


The Way She Looks At You

by Miko



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bisexual Experimentation, Canon Lesbian Character, F/F, First time lesbian sex, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Self Confidence Issues, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Shyness, Strap-Ons, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-05-23 19:39:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14940596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miko/pseuds/Miko
Summary: The last thing Tracer expects Reinhardt's squire to be is a brilliant, caring, gorgeous young woman. Brigitte captures Tracer's interest right from the start, and is quickly capturing her heart as well. Unfortunately flirting isn't one of her best skills, and she's still gun-shy from a painful breakup with Emily, so she contents herself with admiring passionately from afar.Brigitte never realized she could be attracted to a woman, but Tracer is sweet, funny, and stunningly beautiful in a way Brigitte can't help but be drawn to. She'd also never realized how much impact years of teasing from classmates and peers truly had on her self image, until she finds herself doubting whether Tracer could be interested in someone like her. Uncertain what to do and afraid of damaging the first real friendship she's ever had with a girl her own age, Brigitte hides her heart away and settles for secret, heated dreams.Sometimes it takes an unbiased third friend to point out that if both halves of a pair are suffering from unrequited love, that means it's not unrequited... it's just love.





	1. Chapter 1

Officially abandoned, Watchpoint Gibraltar appeared to be little more than a ghost town. The wind whistled down long corridors that had once been full of chattering, working people. Bridges and archways slowly rusted themselves to pieces, while weeds grew through cracks in the pavement. To anyone who didn't know better, it looked like there was nobody living there but the gulls.

Lena Oxton, 'Tracer' to her friends, very much knew better. This place had been, and in many ways still was, her home. More importantly, it was her good friend Winston's home. Unlike her, he was unable to leave and join the world at large, nor find another place to go.

Which was why his friends came to him. Especially on nights like this - Christmas was a time for _family_. Tracer absolutely considered Winston to be part of hers. So what if he was a talking gorilla? He was also one of the best people she knew.

The moment she stepped inside the section he'd turned into his home, tension slid off her shoulders that she hadn't even realized she was carrying. Sighing, she locked her hands together and stretched them up above her head, straightening her spine. She felt the vertebrae pop back into place - much like it felt like _she'd_ returned back where she belonged, the world in its proper alignment once again.

"Tracer!" Winston's booming voice was so low that it always felt like a rumble in her chest rather than a noise in her ears. "You made it!"

"Of course I did!" Tracer blinked over to him, not wanting to take even the few seconds needed to cross the room, and threw herself into a hug. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, you know that."

Winston gave the _best_ hugs. When his shaggy arms enfolded her, it was exactly like having a giant, living teddy bear cuddling her. His body was so warm it was like a furnace, and without the armour he wore when they were on missions, she could feel how soft he was.

It was possible she hung on a bit tighter and longer than she normally would have. When she moved to draw back, Winston placed one big hand on her head, gently ruffling her hair and peering down at her with a concerned look. "What's wrong? Where's Emily, was she not able to make it?"

Tracer felt herself go stiff, though she tried to fight the impulse. Regret, anger, and longing churned in her gut. Of course she'd known he would ask the question, he was very fond of her girlfriend.

Ex-girlfriend. Months later, she still had to remind herself to put the 'ex' in front. And the reminder hurt every time.

"Things... didn't work out," was the most diplomatic answer she could come up with. She gave him a smile that she hoped wasn't too wobbly. "We went our separate ways a while back. I'm sure she'll email you to wish you happy holidays, or some such."

Winston's face fell, and the hand on her hair stopped ruffling and started stroking, instead. There had been people in Overwatch who complained that they couldn't read the expressions on Winston's 'inhuman' face. Tracer didn't have a damn clue what they were talking about, because he'd always been an open book to her. And right now, he was hurting nearly as much as she was, on her behalf.

"Aw, don't look at me like that," she scolded, trying to put on a brave face for him. Winston cared so deeply about his friends, and this holiday was supposed to be about _enjoying_ family. The last thing Tracer wanted to do was ruin this night of celebration. "Plenty of fish in the sea and all that, yeah? Didn't your email say something about a bunch of other people coming this year, anyway?"

He studied her a moment more, then released her to push up his glasses, giving her the excuse to draw away. It was clear that he was humouring her desire not to talk about it, but at least her question did distract him somewhat. "Yes, quite a few people made it this year. Mei and Angela are here, as well as Reinhardt. Torbjorn sends his regrets, but..."

"But Christmas is for family, and he's got a big one," Tracer finished, nodding. "Be a bit hard for him to sneak all those grandkids in here without anybody noticing!"

He led her into another part of the base, that used to be the mess hall. As far as she was aware he hadn't been using that area regularly, but now one of the long tables was all done up with a Christmas feast, decorations and all. Tracer spotted Angela Ziegler immediately, and all but flew over to the other woman. "Angela! It's been ages!"

"Lena." Angela's pretty face lit up with a warm, welcoming smile. She followed it up with a hug. "It's good to see you well. Why, I haven't had to patch you up in years, now."

Tracer laughed. "Not for lack of bumps and bruises on my part, doc. You know me, always getting into trouble."

"Well, should you ever need assistance, my hospital is always open to you," Angela assured her. 

Tracer knew the offer was sincere, and also understood the value of it - technically, all Overwatch missions were now illegal. That meant if Angela helped, and didn't report their actions to the authorities, she would be considered just as much a terrorist as Tracer herself. "Thanks, Angela," she said, and put all the sincerity she could muster into the words.

"Ah, Tracer!" Reinhardt's boom wasn't quite a match for Winston's, but it wasn't for lack of trying on the Crusader's part. He gave her a broad smile and waved her over. "Come, my friend. I demand a hug as well!"

"You say that like I'd ever refuse," Tracer laughed, and blinked over to receive the requested embrace. Without the advantage of Winston's fur, Reinhardt's hug wasn't as soft, but it was no less all-encompassing. Seeing him without his armour was very weird. "So, technically, you're not my lieutenant anymore. Do I still have to call you sir?"

He laughed heartily. "Not at all, little one. Call me whatever you like."

A merry, mischievous grin flirted across Tracer's lips. "Ooh, careful, big guy. Think about who you're making that offer to. There are so many good nicknames I can come up with for you."

Clapping his hand on her shoulder - nearly staggering her in the process - he turned to gesture to someone else behind him. "Tracer, I'd like to introduce you to my squire."

"Squire?" Tracer blinked at the old-fashioned term. Well, Crusaders were technically knights, so she supposed it made sense. "I didn't know you had a..."

All the breath left her lungs in a rush, so fast it left her dizzy. Tracer stared at the young woman who came to Reinhardt's side, as stunned as if McCree had tossed a flashbang at her. 

The girl was _gorgeous_. Drop-dead, mind-shatteringly attractive. Not the starved model 'beauty' so many people seemed to admire, but in a strong, healthy fashion that had Tracer's libido sitting up to take notice as heat swirled through her body.

She was tall, long-limbed and graceful, muscled enough to suggest she worked _hard_ but not so much that she lost the lush feminine curves of her body. She wore a flowing red tunic with tight black pants beneath, practical but festive. Long, dark hair was pulled up away from her face at the sides but allowed to fall in a shining river down her back. Her wide, generous mouth was curved in a reserved smile, large bright eyes shining with curiosity... and there was the tiniest smudge of what looked like grease on the inner shell of her ear, as if she'd missed washing it off.

Belatedly registering that the woman was holding out her hand, Tracer kicked her brain into restarting and reached out to accept the offered handshake. The grip was strong but not punishing, squeezing as if she was unaware of her own strength rather than trying to one-up Tracer. There was heavy callus on her fingers and palms, and scars across her knuckles. It felt like a feminine version of Torbjorn's hands, and Tracer guessed she was an engineer or something similar.

"Um. Hi." Tracer mentally kicked herself for that brilliant opening. Swallowing, she fished for something more interesting to say. "I'm Tracer." Yep, that was much better. Because it wasn't like Reinhardt had already said her name, or anything.

"We've met before, actually," the vision declared, one corner of her smile kicking up an extra notch, in a way that suggested she was amused by Tracer's utter banality. She had a lilting accent that Tracer couldn't quite place. Definitely not German, she sounded nothing like Reinhardt. Something Nordic, maybe? 

"Er..." Desperately Tracer tried to think of a polite way to phrase her refusal of that statement, without declaring the woman to be a liar. "Pretty sure I'd remember meeting you. You're really... uh, memorable." Heat swept over her face, and she was mortally certain she was turning bright tomato red. At least she hadn't blurted out something _completely_ embarrassing, like ‘attractive’.

"Well, back then I was smaller than you are, so I guess it's not surprising you don't recognize me," the woman chuckled. "Papa brought me to an Overwatch Christmas party, not long before it was shut down. I'm Brigitte Lindolm."

"Oh!" Tracer smacked herself in the temple with her palm. "And here I was just thinking your hands reminded me of Torbjorn. You're his youngest daughter. I do remember meeting you."

The girl she'd met, a few years younger than Tracer herself, had indeed been short and scrawny at the time. Obviously at some point she'd hit a major growth spurt, and put in a lot of work to earn all that muscle. Probably at least partly from hauling Reinhardt's armour around - that was the kind of thing a squire did, right?

"I'm surprised you're not at home with the rest of your family," Tracer added, tilting her head. “Torbjorn was always talking about how important family is.”

"Papa's not pleased that I'm away from home," Brigitte confirmed, her smile going a little crooked. "But Reinhardt insisted he wanted to see his 'other family', since so many of you were coming this year. I go where he goes."

"Well, I'm certainly glad to see him,” Tracer said with a smile at the giant of a man. “It's been far too long! And glad to meet you again, too."

"There, you see?" Reinhardt patted them both on the shoulders. It staggered Tracer again, but Brigitte took it like a rock, unmoved. "I knew you two would like each other. Tracer, why don't you give my goddaughter a tour? I want to greet Angela, it's been too long."

"I want to say hi to her as well, you know," Brigitte replied, but Reinhardt was already turning away, his booming voice shouting a greeting to the doctor as if she wasn't only a few feet away.

There was a long moment of awkward silence between them. Tracer cleared her throat. "Goddaughter, huh? And you know Angela well?"

"Very." Brigitte's smile warmed again as she glanced over at the doctor. "I actually thought she was my aunt for years when I was a little girl. Papa was very close to his teammates, and they've always been in my life."

That stung, and Tracer bit her lower lip to hide the quiver that wanted to emerge. _She'd_ been Torbjorn's teammate, as well. But he'd never reached out to her that she was aware of, since they'd all been split apart by the fall of Overwatch.

Giving herself a mental slap, she reined herself in. Tracer had never reached out to him either. Moreover, she'd been part of his team for less than a year, whereas he'd been working with Reinhardt and Angela for decades. Plus, she'd been in London, while Reinhardt and Angela were much closer to where Torbjorn's family lived.

"Well, I can't tell you how many times Angela, Reinhardt, and your father saved my life," she said, reaching for and finding a smile that at least resembled her usual bright cheer. "Not to mention everything they taught me that's saved me since then!"

"I've heard a few stories about you," Brigitte acknowledged, a sparkle of laughter in her eyes. "So, about that tour?"

"Oh! Do you really want to?" Tracer was startled. "I mean, Reinhardt does tend to get these ideas in his head about what people _should_ want to do, and he doesn't always remember to check with them about whether they _actually_ want to..."

"Yes, he does have a way of running roughshod over you, doesn't he,” Brigitte laughed. “It's probably a good thing I inherited papa's stubborn streak."

"Pretty sure that stubbornness is one of the things that made them good friends in the first place," Tracer replied, chuckling. "They did seem to love to bicker, but it was like siblings fighting, not enemies. All bark and no bite."

"You _did_ know them well, didn't you.” Brigitte grinned outright, and lifted a hand to pat Tracer’s shoulder. “Come on then, squirt. Show me around."

Tracer rolled her eyes at the derogatory term, though she certainly couldn’t deny that she felt like a bit of a runt next to the tall, solidly built woman. "I've already got a nickname, thanks. Two, if you count your dad calling me the cavalry."

Brigitte grinned. "I've heard him mutter to himself about that. He said you were like a dog with a bone about it."

"Cheers, love! The cavalry's here!" Tracer chirped what had become her trademark phrase, and dragged a snicker out of Brigitte. She was even prettier when she laughed, her eyes bright, dimples creasing her freckled cheeks. 

The tour didn't really take long - the Watchpoint was huge, but only this tiny area was still in use, and empty cargo containers and vehicle hangers probably wouldn't be of much interest. They finished up on the observation deck that overlooked the staging area out front, and the wide, endless sea beyond. The stars were out in force, shining jewels scattered across the velvet backdrop of the sky, like a million diamonds set out for display. 

Tracer stared at them out the giant window, and sighed appreciatively. "I always forget how beautiful the sky is here," she murmured. "There's hardly ever stars in London, and even when they do peek through, I think I could count them on my fingers."

"I love the sky outside the cities," Brigitte agreed, and her voice held a dreamy note. "The world is a beautiful place, when you step away from the hustle and bustle to notice it."

The urge hit her to reach out, slide her hand over Brigitte’s in a quiet invitation for more contact. But the end of her long relationship with Emily had made her skittish, and she didn't know Brigitte well enough to be sure the interest would be welcomed in any way. 

It struck Tracer that while there might be plenty of fish in the sea, she had no real idea how to go about constructing a net to catch one. Emily had reeled _her_ in; Tracer had floundered around at the start of their relationship, flustered and confused by her own emotions. 

Though she’d realized early that she was attracted to women, Tracer had never done anything to act on that attraction. Not from shame, but from sheer lack of time. She’d dedicated her teenage years to becoming one of the best pilots in the world, determined to prove wrong everyone who told her that she’d never get into Overwatch.

So she’d never learned to flirt, never learned how to tell if an attraction was mutual or one-sided. Tracer felt like Brigitte could become a good friend in time, and she didn’t want to jeopardize that by making a move that ended badly.

No, better to stay quiet for now. Build the friendship, and see if maybe that led to something more. But damn, she knew who she was going to be dreaming about tonight - and for the first time in too long, it wouldn’t be Emily.


	2. Chapter 2

Tracer had always been a morning person, up with the sun, chipper and full of energy. More than one person she'd known had threatened to strangle or otherwise punish her for the trait. Emily in particular had frequently grumbled about the dire things she would do to get an extra hour of sleep, especially before she'd had her first cuppa of the morning.

Waking alone, with nobody complaining that it was the crack of dawn and no respectable human being should be up yet, now left her feeling adrift and alone. It surprised Tracer how much she missed something that had been annoying at the time. She couldn't help but wonder if Emily felt the same, waking up without Tracer already banging around in the kitchen, making breakfast and the all-important strong tea.

At least this time Tracer had slept in her old quarters at Gibraltar, a familiar, comforting environment. Not like her new flat in London, which still felt alien and empty though she'd lived in it for months now. Tracer simply wasn't built to be alone for long stretches, had always enjoyed having other people around her, especially those she was close to. Being alone left her gloomy and dispirited.

"Maybe I should move back here," she murmured to herself as she headed to the training room for a quick morning session before breakfast. "Winston would probably appreciate the company, and it's not like there's anything keeping me in London."

She'd always talked to herself, but it had become something close to a compulsion after the accident that disassociated her from time. The flat, empty silence of her hellish chronal prison had left her with a fierce aversion to the quiet. Yet another reason she hated waking alone.

Given how late last night's party had gone, Tracer had fully expected she would be the first one up. Instead she heard muffled crashing and banging as she approached the training room, indicating someone was already in there. Curious, she detoured up one level to the observation room that overlooked the area.

Brigitte had set up one of the computer practice routines, a series of dummy robots that Athena controlled in as realistic a fashion as could be managed. It was nothing like fighting a real opponent, but it was good enough for a warmup and basic drills, the kind of things you did a million times to program the motions into the depths of your bones, so they became automatic. It was exactly what Tracer had been planning to do.

Fascinated, Tracer leaned against the window and watched. The Swedish woman was in stretchy workout clothes rather than her armour, but she carried her shield and mace. One after another she bashed and smashed the robots into pieces, slow but methodical and very effective. Her style was definitely influenced by the training she'd presumably received from Reinhardt, but held her own unique flair as well.

That meant she'd either put in countless hours of practice already, or was a natural talent at fighting. That kind of individuality in fighting style didn't come quickly to most, especially in basic grunt drills like this. Watching Brigitte's grace and strength as she flowed through the motions, slaying enemy after enemy, Tracer was willing to bet it was a combination of effort and aptitude both.

It was beautiful to watch, not only for the demonstration of expertise. Brigitte was flushed with exertion, expression utterly focused, a fine sheen of sweat dusting her brow and making the muscles on her exposed arms and abs glow in the harsh lighting. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, strands sticking to her face and shoulders where they'd been plastered down by the sweat.

Breath escaping her in a rush, Tracer pressed closer to the window, palms flat against it and nose all but touching. Her heartbeat spiked, and warmth trickled through her, curling low in her body as she felt herself grow damp. 

It was the first time since Emily left that she'd felt more than vague interest in someone. She very much wanted to go down there and lick that fine sheen right off Brigitte's skin, let the salt mingle with the natural taste of the other woman, and run her hands over every inch of those muscles. Given the opportunity, she'd pull the tie out of that magnificent hair and run her hands through it, dig her fingers into the heavy silk and mess it up some more.

The training room was a public area, but it was unlikely anyone else would be up so early, let alone come down to train. Tracer would peel those tight clothes off the other woman, run her mouth over the exposed skin, teasing and tormenting until Brigitte was begging for more.

No, on second thought, Brigitte wouldn't beg. She'd grab Tracer by the shoulders and flip her right over, putting herself in the dominant position, pinning Tracer's much smaller body to the floor or wall with her bigger, heavier frame. Maybe slip a knee between Tracer's thighs to keep her down, giving her a chance to rub against Brigitte's leg to try to ease the ache that was rapidly growing. 

Biting her lip, Tracer glanced furtively around the room as if someone might be hiding in the corners. Back when this had been an operational base, that wouldn't have been an unfounded concern - Genji had been distressingly good at blending into the background until the moment when he wanted to be seen. He'd seemed to find people's reactions to noticing him quite amusing, in that dry, hard-to-see way of his sense of humour.

The room was empty, and likely to stay that way. Heart pounding, she slipped a hand down, pressing against the ache, biting back a moan at the rush of pleasure. She could feel a hint of dampness in the tight fabric, and her breath hitched as she realized how wet she was already. 

Shifting her hand, she slipped her fingers inside the waistband, beneath her panties, until she found the slick curls. Even to her own touch she was warm, hot with need and passion in a way she hadn't felt in far too long. Tracer had pleasured herself many times since the breakup, never hesitated to indulge her sexual nature, but doing it without anyone to think about wasn't nearly as intense.

Imagining it was Brigitte's hand, she pushed lower, into the wetness, finding the sensitive folds of flesh and teasing herself. Brigitte's hands were strong, callused from countless hours holding her mace and shield, but Tracer had noticed last night that the other woman's fingers were surprisingly slender and graceful. 

She _would_ tease, Tracer was sure of it, asserting her dominance and making sure Tracer knew exactly who was leading whom. The woman who was down there decimating her enemies had the heart of a warrior and the aggression of a born fighter. Brigitte would head the charge, leading the way with fierce determination and passion, in bed as well as in battle.

Circling her opening, Tracer shifted her feet apart, trying to give herself more room to work with. There was only so far she could go without it being obvious to the security cameras what she was doing. Nobody would be watching, but it _would_ be recorded, and you never knew. Winston might well get bored and lonely enough to review footage of times when his friends had been in the base.

Breath coming in jagged gasps, she slid the tips of two fingers inside, as far as she could manage. It wasn't nearly enough. She wanted to be spread open, utterly exposed to Brigitte's gaze, ready for the other woman to touch wherever and however she pleased. Biting back a sob of frustration, she withdrew and shifted her focus higher.

She pinched her clit between two fingers, sliding them back and forth and rubbing the tight nub of flesh between them. The intensity of the sensation made her tremble, but it would be so much _better_ if it was Brigitte's hand. Not knowing when the next touch would come, having no control over the pace, allowed her to concentrate only on the sensations rather than thinking about how to touch herself.

Maybe she _could_ let Brigitte control the pace. Keeping her eyes on the other woman, Tracer fell into the steady rhythm of Brigitte's strikes. For each swing of the mace, she stroked over her clit; long, slow glides that left her aching for more. When Brigitte bashed with her shield, Tracer flicked her fingers hard over the sensitive flesh, drawing moans she couldn't quite swallow. 

It was too slow, the pace torturous when all she wanted to do was push herself hard and fast over the edge, but Tracer held to her resolve. By the time her body was trembling on the brink of orgasm, she was gasping for air, desperate for release. So close, she was so close...

Stepping back, Brigitte swung her mace up onto her shoulder and rested it there, surveying the wreckage with a triumphant smile. Tracer barely bit back a scream of frustration, but pulled her hand away, shaking with need. 

Glancing up, Brigitte spotted Tracer standing there. She looked surprised, but waved a greeting. Tracer waved back, then realized belatedly that she'd used her right hand, fingers glistening with slick liquid, the faint scent of her own arousal nearly driving her crazy. Brigitte wouldn't be able to tell, but _Tracer_ knew.

She might be, just possibly, definitely absolutely developing a massive crush.

God, she desperately needed a shower. A nice, hot, long shower, where she had a lovely date planned with a certain favourite toy she'd brought from home. Tracer had shoved it into her bag at the last moment, not sure how long she'd be staying, and she was frightfully glad of it now. That had always been the plan for after her workout, but now it was an absolute necessity.

Of course, fate couldn't be that kind to her. She had to go back down past the training room entrance to return to her room, and Brigitte was just emerging. Gathering every last bit of her will, Tracer managed to smile cheerfully instead of moaning. "Hiya! Didn't expect to see anyone else up this early." Her voice even came out steady. She was impressed with herself.

If Brigitte noticed anything off, she didn't show it. Instead she smiled back, the expression notably warmer than the night before. "Hej hej. I've always been an early bird. Gotta check over our equipment and armour before we head out for the day, and now I have to train on top of that. I can't protect Rein if I'm floundering around on the field like a baby."

"You were definitely not floundering," Tracer assured her, hoping she wasn't _too_ fervent. "I hope you don't mind me watching, but it was a pleasure." Far more pleasure than she'd ever admit to, that was certain.

"I don't mind." Brigitte's smile widened. "If we're going to be working together, it's best if we know what the other is capable of. We should spar, yeah?"

Yes, they should absolutely spar. Tracer would definitely not surreptitiously enjoy the press of her body against the other woman's as they grappled - and never mind that Tracer's fighting style meant grappling was _not_ something she ever engaged in. She certainly would not flub a move on purpose in a way that would leave Brigitte pinning her down, like in her fantasy.

Frantically reining in her imagination before she started breathing heavily or did something else that gave her away, Tracer nodded. "Sure, that sounds like a great idea! Um, right now?" 

Wouldn't _that_ be an interesting fight. Tracer's knees were wobbly, her whole body right on the edge of a shiver at any moment, heart pounding way too fast. Her clit was swollen with need, and every step brushed it against the seam of her pants, which would make her usual jumping around style a very interesting exercise. Even if she managed not to have a completely inappropriate orgasm in the middle of the battle, she definitely wouldn't be making a positive impression on the other woman.

Thankfully, Brigitte shook her head, though she looked genuinely regretful. "I should get back. Reinhardt will be up by now, and looking for me."

"So are you going to be sticking around, or are you two heading back out?" Despite knowing it would be a stupid idea, if this was going to be her only chance to try her skill against Brigitte, Tracer might try talking her into it after all.

"No, we’re here to stay,” Brigitte confirmed with a smile. "I hope that means you and I will have a chance to get to know each other better.”

“Absolutely!” The confirmation slipped out without conscious thought, and Tracer realized she'd already made up her mind about leaving London for the base. How could she do otherwise, when it seemed like the team was finally coming together again? They'd need her, and she didn't want to be hours away if something came up.

The fact that Brigitte would be here as well was only a bonus, not a deciding factor. Really.


	3. Chapter 3

It said a lot about Tracer's life right now that it took less than a day for her to completely shift her home from London to Gibraltar. The flat she'd lived in with her girlfriend had belonged to Emily before they became an item, so although Emily was the one who broke up with her, Tracer was the one who'd left. 

In her heartbreak, Tracer had left behind anything and everything the two of them had bought together, even though she could have laid fair claim to half of it. Since then she'd accumulated only the bare necessities of survival - a beat-up couch, a few chipped dishes and old pans, a battered holo unit for entertainment that she never bothered to turn on. The furniture and kitchenware didn't need to make the transition to Gibraltar, and what was left filled only a few lonely boxes.

Mei had offered to come home with her to help her pack and move, but Tracer had turned down the help with a blush. She didn't want the other woman to see the pitiful state of her life. It made her realize how badly she'd been dragging around since the breakup, existing rather than living.

The wakeup call was a much needed slap in the face. As if breaking free of a gossamer cocoon that had shielded her from the world, Tracer made a conscious decision to return to her usual good cheer and joy in life. Emo gloom was _not_ her style, and it was a terrible look on her.

"At least it means I don't have to worry about cramming things in here, or storing them," she pointed out to herself as she put clothes away. Because she'd been such a junior agent, her old room at the Watchpoint was hardly big enough for her to spread her arms wide. Her tall bunk took up most of the space, with a desk beneath that was little more than a shelf with legs, and a tiny dresser for her clothes. The rest of her gear was stored in a trunk at the foot of the bed, and that barely left her enough room to stand.

A knock at the doorframe drew her attention. She'd left the door open to make the space feel a bit less claustrophobic, with boxes piled on the bed and desk. Brigitte stood there now, a bemused smile on her face. "Tja. You're moving in here?"

"There's no real reason for me to stay in London." For the first time, saying the words didn't stab her through the heart. Tracer smiled. This was a good move, the right move. She was finally going forward again. "If we're gonna do this, might as well do it right. Besides, I've missed everyone."

"Sure, but I meant, you're moving in _here_?" Brigitte tipped her head. "Why pick such a tiny room?"

"Technically I didn't pick it," Tracer laughed. "I was assigned it, seven years ago. It's not so bad. Better than the barracks the cadets sleep in, that's for sure! Privacy is a luxury you don't appreciate until you don't have any."

"Don't I know it," Brigitte commiserated. "I grew up with a lot of sisters crammed into the room with me, and now Rein and I share a little trailer. We need our money for fuel and repairs. It's nice to have my own space, here." Brigitte smiled. "The old officer's quarters are really nice, actually. But I guess if you have sentimental attachment to your little closet, I can understand." 

Standing stock still in the middle of the room, Tracer stared at her. "The officer's quarters. Which are empty, and nobody cares if a 'junior agent' takes one. I'm a bloody idiot."

Brigitte burst out laughing, her whole face lighting up and eyes merry with amusement. "Habit is a powerful thing. Want some help moving the boxes upstairs?"

"Yes, please." This time it didn't matter that there were so few pieces of her life, because for all Brigitte knew, this was only the small part that Tracer had chosen to bring with her. Turning, she started tossing the clothes she'd so carefully put away back into the open box, willy-nilly. The officer's quarters weren't palatial by any means, but they were a damn sight better than her room. 'Closet' was a generous description.

With Brigitte's help, she only needed to make one trip. Standing in the hall, Tracer scanned the rooms, pondering her choices. 

Angela was planning to return to her hospital after the holidays were over, and it looked like Brigitte had taken over her room. Mei had already hung a sign with her name on the door of the room Captain Amari had used.

She knew Winston had never left his old room - it had been built off his lab, specially designed to accommodate the big gorilla. Torbjorn had already sent word that he planned to join them, so his room was claimed even though it was currently empty. Reinhardt of course had taken his old quarters back.

 

That left only one choice. With a laugh that was tempered by old, remembered grief, Tracer headed for Commander Morrison's quarters. "Guess if I'm gonna upgrade, I might as well take the best one. I feel like I'm pulling some kind of prank."

Grinning, Brigitte carried her boxes into the room. _Rooms_. There was a separate space with a seating arrangement that was clearly meant for small meetings the Commander hadn't wanted to do in his office, maybe after hours or something. A very nice holo unit was built into one wall. Tracer would be able to use to to hang out with her friends, kick back and watch movies.

Which, come to think of it, was a much more likely purpose for the room than meetings. Tracer found herself astonished at the idea. Of course she knew the Commander had friends - everyone knew he and Commander Reyes were all but brothers, and there were others he was close to as well. But the image of Jack Morrison lounging on the couch, making fun of a video, maybe even tossing popcorn at the screen, was incomprehensible.

"I'm glad you're sticking around," Brigitte said, drawing Tracer's attention off the mind-boggling thought. "I'd like to get to know you better. It's nice to have a girl my own age to talk to. Mei's really friendly, too."

Heart warming, Tracer smiled back at her. That Brigitte was the one who suggested they could be friends was a fantastic sign. Now she just had to be careful she didn't screw it up by coming on too strong - because if Brigitte _wasn't_ interested in her romantically, Tracer still wanted to be able to have that platonic friendship.

"Are you up for that sparring session?" she asked impulsively. "If you'd rather wait until morning, that's fine. I'm sure you're busy getting settled in, too."

"Right now?" Brigitte looked anything but dismayed by the idea, grinning like she couldn't wait to get her hand on a mace and shield. "I thought you'd be too tired, what with moving and all."

"Bring it on," Tracer challenged her, no less eager. "Light or full gear?"

"Full gear, definitely." Brigitte took the challenge and threw it right back. "I wanna see what you can really do. This is a match, not a workout."

"Ooh, I'm gonna make you regret that." Tracer laughed. "You'll never see me coming. Meet you downstairs in ten?"

"It's a deal." Brigitte offered her hand for a fist bump, which Tracer met happily. This was going to be _fun_.

* * *

As they squared off in the empty training room, Tracer regarded Brigitte's armour with wide-eyed admiration. "You built that?"

"Designed it from scratch, shield and all," Brigitte confirmed, swinging her padded practice mace to test the balance. "With a little help from papa, though in places where we disagreed, I went with my own ideas. I wanted it to be _mine_."

The admission held a hint of shyness to it, as if Brigitte was hesitant to brag. Except it wasn't bragging, just acknowledging her own hard work, and she'd shown no lack of confidence when it came to her skills before this.

Was it possible she was hoping to impress Tracer? If so, she'd certainly succeeded. Tracer was familiar enough with Reinhardt's armour to see the differences. Brigitte's was similar, but more mobile and flexible, suiting her lighter frame and quicker weapon. The metal was intentionally too dull to shine, preventing it from giving her position away, but gleamed in the light. She clearly took meticulous care of it.

She looked like a knight in shining armour straight out of the old stories. A paladin, ready and willing to dive in and protect the innocent, uphold the righteous. Watching her train in workout clothes had been a pleasure, but watching her fight would be a prime example of the 'glorious battle' Reinhardt was forever talking about. Brigitte was always pretty, but now she was in her element, and it made her breathtakingly beautiful.

"That's amazing." Tracer made no effort to hide her admiration, though she did her best to hide the lust that crept in with it. "You might even surpass Torbjorn someday."

"Shhh, don't ever let papa hear you say that," Brigitte laughed. "I've still got a long way to go before I catch up to him, but pride will make him prove it - and we don't need a test-run explosion damaging the base."

Tracer giggled, all too aware of how disastrous Torbjorn's misfires could be. He always came through in a pinch, but the experiments to get there could be hazardous to the health of everyone around. 

"What about you?" Brigitte gestured at Tracer, who wore her usual battle gear. "You don't have any armour at all. My practice mace is padded, but it'll still hurt if I hit you. It's hard to pull my blows with it."

"Don't you dare pull your punches," Tracer scolded her. "You wanted a real fight, and you're gonna get one. Besides, you’re assuming you'll be able to hit me at all."

"You're on, little girl." Brigitte grinned and lifted her hand in a 'come at me' motion.

Smiling, Tracer ran straight for her. Brigitte shifted her mace into position, ready to lash out. Tracer had been watching carefully yesterday - at first, anyway - and she had a good idea of what the weapon's range was. The instant before it could strike her, when Brigitte was already committed to the swing... Tracer blinked.

The tiny chronal shift jumped her ahead one second on her timeline, putting her instantly in the position she _would_ have reached if she'd continued a second longer on her trajectory. That meant she ended up behind Brigitte, who was undoubtedly still staring in confusion at the spot where Tracer had disappeared.

Laughing, Tracer spun on a dime, the quick shift in momentum utilizing a trick that Genji had taught her. She fired point-blank at the other woman's head while Brigitte was still looking around, trying to figure out where Tracer had gone.

Glowing dots of holographic light bloomed over Brigitte's hair, as Athena indicated where Tracer's shots would have landed if she'd been firing real pulse rounds. A harsh buzzer sounded, indicating that Brigitte would have been killed by the shot.

Astonished, Brigitte turned around and saw Tracer behind her. Grinning, Tracer gave her a cheeky wave with one pistol. "Toldja I wouldn't make it easy for you. Didn't Torbjorn or Reinhardt tell you what I could do?"

"They told me," Brigitte acknowledged with a rueful smile. "But I didn't really understand. I don't think it's something that can be properly described. That's one for you. Let's go again!"

With the element of surprise gone, it wasn't quite as easy after that, but Tracer more than held her own. She ducked and wove, dived and spun, and blinked all over the room. Brigitte began to work out the rhythm of Tracer's style, coming closer and closer to hitting her. It didn't take long before she was able to predict where Tracer would appear from the blink with reasonable accuracy, and that was when the fun _really_ started.

It took everything Tracer had to stay ahead of the other woman's strikes, and she didn't have more than a split second between blinks to fire back. Most of her shots missed, Brigitte quicker to get that shield up than Tracer had expected. The rest landed on the heavy armour, never coming close to penetrating it. 

Finally Tracer managed a successful feint, changing her direction at the last possible instant before she blinked. Brigitte turned to follow the direction Tracer had originally been heading in, leaving her flank wide open despite the shield up and protecting her front. Grinning, Tracer lifted her pistols and started blasting headshots.

Except Brigitte hadn't been faked out at all, but rather executing a flawless feint of her own, because she spun around and got her shield between them before Tracer could fire enough shots for it to count as a kill. Brigitte turned the momentum of the spin into a lunge, shouting as she slammed her shield straight into Tracer's face, making her stumble backward.

It _hurt_ , a solid ache across the whole front of her body, and she knew she'd have a truly spectacular bruise before long. Worse, it disoriented her for a critical moment, leaving Tracer too dazed to gather the focus she needed to blink away.

With a triumphant cry, Brigitte flicked her mace out with a gesture Tracer hadn't seen before. It shot straight toward her as if jet-propelled, the chain extending far beyond the reach Tracer had thought it possessed, and smashed into her with the force of a fighter jet.

She flew backward, airborn for a few astonishing seconds, then slammed into the wall hard enough to leave bruises that would match the ones from the shield bash. The impact of the mace had done far worse, however. Tracer's nose was broken, a haze of pain making her whole face throb and her eyes tear up until she couldn't see. 

Then she tried to say something, croak out congratulations, and discovered the true meaning of agony. It wasn't just her nose that was splintered. Her jaw was broken as well, maybe her cheekbones too. Padded or not, Brigitte had been right that her mace did a dangerous amount of damage.

"Tracer!" Brigitte sounded frantic. "Athena, get Angela!"

Passing out would be very bad, because if she was unconscious, she couldn't manipulate time. Tracer clung to awareness by the skin of her teeth, and activated the accelerator.

The world disappeared in a haze of blue for a split second, and she flung herself back along her timeline. The rewind worked much like her blinks, except it went in reverse and covered a bit more time. Three seconds ago, Tracer had been whole and unhurt, ammo clips fully charged, standing to the left of Brigitte.

The instant she reappeared, Tracer fired the whole clip into Brigitte's head before the other woman even realized she'd moved. The buzzer sounded to indicate a kill, and Tracer giggled in triumph. "Gotcha!"

Whirling, Brigitte stared at her in astonishment, eyes travelling up and down Tracer's body as she searched for damage. After a moment she laughed as well, shaking her head. "Papa's stories _definitely_ don't do justice to that ability. Athena, cancel the emergency call to Angela."

"I never made it," the AI informed them serenely. "If Agent Oxton hadn't recovered within three seconds of the strike, I would have done so at that time."

"Athena's used to me," Tracer told Brigitte with a smile. "One time, Genji drew his sword on me, and cut my arm half off! Now _that_ would have been messy if I hadn't managed the rewind, but he never did hold back more than he absolutely had to. Commander Morrison chewed him out for like, half an hour, but Genji just said he knew he'd taught me well enough that I'd be fine."

"I know the feeling," Brigitte said, laughing reluctantly. "He's never cut off a limb, but he does leave a lot of cuts and bruises. I hope he joins us here, I want to show him how much I've learned since the last time I fought him."

It was so strange that Brigitte knew all of Tracer's Overwatch friends, sometimes better than Tracer did, and yet Tracer and Brigitte had never met. It really drove home how much Tracer had accidentally isolated herself in London. She'd truly made the right decision to return.

Lost in contemplation, Tracer was caught by surprise when Brigitte strode over and punched her in the shoulder. _Hard_. "Ow!" Rubbing the sore spot, Tracer stared at her. "What was that for?"

"Scaring me." Brigitte followed up the punch by reaching out and mussing Tracer's hair like a little kid. "Next time, wear some padding, at least!"

Rolling her eyes, Tracer batted the other woman's hand away from her now thoroughly disheveled spikes. "It'll slow me down. Thankfully, the accelerator blocks most of the body shots, though I don’t want it getting damaged." She rubbed the bridge of her nose, wincing at the memory of pain, and added, "Maybe a helmet would be a good idea, though."

"I'll build you something," Brigitte offered unexpectedly. "Flexible and light. Might take a little while to come up with a prototype, but it'll be a good project to work on. I mean, if you want? You'll have to put up with a lot of measuring and testing."

"Are you kidding me? Absolutely!" If anyone could come up with armour Tracer could wear without problems, it was probably the woman standing in front of her. She was truly Torbjorn's daughter, talented and brilliant, and she had the look in her eyes that Torbjorn usually got when he was building a new weapon. Excited enthusiasm, so bright Tracer could almost see the design ideas tumbling through the young woman's head.

And it would be an excuse to spend a lot more time in Brigitte's company, which Tracer was absolutely not turning down. Best of both worlds, really. What more could she ask for?


	4. Chapter 4

If asked to name her single favourite place at Watchpoint: Gibraltar, Brigitte wouldn’t need to think about it for even a second. Nor would anyone who knew her be surprised by her choice.

The engineering workroom was a mechanic's wet dream.

Of _course_ it was - her papa had worked here, and this shop would have been his domain. The equipment had been cutting edge at the time, which meant it was now only top of the line, unlike the sometimes decades-old crap she'd been forced to work with out in the field with Reinhardt. No more tearing her hair out trying to force a tool to do something it wasn't designed for because she didn't have the right equipment. 

And that was without accounting for Athena's help when she was working up new designs on the computer. It was clear her papa had used the AI for much the same purpose, because Athena always seemed to know exactly what to say to jog inspiration out of Brigitte's jumbled thoughts.

It was heaven. Left to her own devices, Brigitte might have eaten, slept, and lived in the workshop without ever coming out. In her less focused moments, Brigitte recognized that it was probably a good thing that the others refused to let her do so.

Still, she minded interruptions less from some people than others. When the now-familiar chirp of "Hiya!" came from the doorway, Brigitte looked up with a smile.

"Tja," she greeted Tracer. Inhaling, she caught the scent of something fried and savoury, and her stomach growled in response. Loudly. Blushing, Brigitte rubbed the bridge of her nose in a sheepish gesture. "Did I work through lunch?"

Eyes sparkling, Tracer coughed into her hand, clearly suppressing a laugh. "Actually, I came by because dinner ended an hour ago and I didn't see you."

"What? No way." Stunned, Brigitte glanced at the clock on the wall, and groaned when she saw how late it was. "Guess it's sandwiches for me." There was no point in asking whether there were leftovers. Meals at the makeshift Watchpoint were a mad scramble to snag food before Reinhardt and Winston could eat it all.

"Aw, I wouldn't come by just to taunt you." Lifting her hands, Tracer showed off a box Brigitte hadn't noticed. "Fish and chips, courtesy of my gramma's recipe. All yours!"

"You are a saint," Brigitte declared fervently, and waved the other woman over to a clean table in the corner. While Tracer laid out the food, Brigitte went to the sink and scrubbed her hands with the harsh soap that was the only thing that got the grease off. 

Mostly. Some of it was embedded, finding cracks and crevices she'd have to literally scrub her skin off to get rid of. A mechanic's hands were never pretty, not with the scars from countless slipped tools and barked knuckles, plus the grime of the trade. Girls at school had often made fun of Brigitte for her 'dirty' hands, but she counted the marks as badges of her trade and wore them with pride. They'd never bothered her.

Not until a week ago when she'd held Tracer's slender, delicate hand in hers, and Brigitte realized for the first time in her life, she very much wanted someone to think she was pretty.

Now blushing for another reason entirely, Brigitte slid onto the bench seat across the table from the object of her sudden, unrelenting crush. Refusing to allow herself to become tongue-tied, she forced words out in a casual tone. "You don't have to go to so much trouble for me." It wasn't the first time Tracer had come by to look after her, nor even the second.

"No trouble at all," Tracer assured her, with the cheerful smile she never seemed to lose. She was like a walking ray of sunshine, brightening the room with her very presence, and lifting the moods of everyone around her. Or at least, it worked that way for Brigitte. "I swear, bringing you food is the only time I get to talk to you, and I want to know you better."

Damn, every time Brigitte thought she might be able to find her equilibrium, Tracer would throw her off again with a comment like that. Sternly, she told herself not to read too much into it. Of course the older girl wanted to get to know her. There were only a handful of them living here, and Brigitte was closest to Tracer's age. "Well, there's always our morning sparring sessions. When you manage to drag yourself out of bed early enough, anyway."

The teasing made Tracer's cheeks flush hard enough to rival Brigitte's earlier blush. It was funny how embarrassed she was about her habit of oversleeping. Twice this week, Brigitte had ended up doing her workout alone, only to look up at the end and see Tracer peering sheepishly down from the observation room, watching the end of the drills.

"Not like we do much chatting during the workouts," Tracer laughed. "Too busy smashing robots to pieces." She tilted her head, then stood and leaned over the table, catching Brigitte's chin with one hand. There was an oddly intent look in her eyes. "Hold still, love."

All the air rushed out of Brigitte, until she felt dizzy. She obeyed the command, not as a conscious decision, but because her body felt frozen in place. Tracer was so close, the touch was so intimate... was she going to kiss Brigitte?

Oh god, please, yes. Half a dozen of her fantasies started exactly this way, with the two of them alone in the workshop, finding some excuse to get close. Usually they ended with Tracer sprawled naked over one of the tables, crying out in pleasure as Brigitte kissed and petted her to orgasm. Heart pounding, Brigitte pondered whether she had the courage to make her own move now that Tracer had started it, lean in and meet her halfway for the kiss...

Then Tracer reached up with a damp napkin in her other hand and scrubbed it over the bridge of Brigitte's nose, her eyes bright with amusement. "There we go," she declared, sitting back and showing Brigitte the dark smear on the napkin. "You missed a spot."

Groaning, Brigitte hid her face in her hands, grateful that Tracer would assume the embarrassment was due to having grease on her face. Brigitte _really_ needed to get a handle on this crush if she was going to be friends with the other woman. Not only did Tracer clearly not share her interest, but now Brigitte had made herself look like a little kid incapable of washing her own face.

"Occupational hazard," Brigitte sighed, shaking her head as she looked up again. She could still feel heat on her cheeks, but she was no longer praying for the floor to swallow her whole. "You may as well not bother, I'll just put another one - or more - there before the night's out."

At least the bad habit made Tracer giggle in response. "I think it's adorable. You certainly look cuter in grease than Torbjorn ever did."

The thought of her papa and 'cute' in the same sentence made Brigitte giggle as well, and the laughter finally banished her shy awkwardness. "So what did you get up to, today?"

As Brigitte dug in to the delicious battered fish and fried potato sticks, Tracer outlined the plans that Winston and Reinhardt were apparently putting together for a raid against a Talon base. Brigitte paid close attention, even though she knew all of this would be covered in the eventual briefing before the mission went live. The information was important, but honestly, Tracer could chirp her way through the phone book and Brigitte would listen happily.

Unlike many chatty people Brigitte had known, Tracer was good at listening, too. She always asked after Brigitte's day, and seemed genuinely interested even when Brigitte caught herself going on at length about this or that engineering problem. Even when she teased, it was always cheerful and positive, never a hint of malice or disdain.

Really, was it any wonder Brigitte had fallen so hard and fast? She wasn't used to anyone her own age paying positive attention to her, let alone someone as beautiful and put together as Tracer. In school the girls had taunted her for being 'fat', never mind that there wasn't an ounce of anything but lean muscle on Brigitte's stocky frame. The boys had teased her, saying she was too 'mannish' to be date material, even as they were happy to talk engines, robots, and weapons with her.

If not for the many incredible role models Brigitte had to look up to, she might well have come out of her teen years with crippling self-esteem issues. Angela Ziegler was beautiful, but she was also brilliant, and from her, Brigitte had learned to always believe in herself and have compassion for others. Ana Amali hadn’t been conventionally pretty, but there was a charismatic strength in her determined self-confidence and commitment to her cause that had drawn people to her. Reinhardt had taught Brigitte the glory of honour, and instilled in her the need to always do what was right, even when it was also hard, and even when nobody was going to thank you for it.

And Tracer... Brigitte would never tell the other woman, but in some ways Tracer had been the most important to her of all. 

They'd only met in person the once, but Brigitte had listened to her papa's stories in fascination, demanding he tell them over and over again. About the girl who, as a teenager, had become such a good pilot that she'd been chosen for a top-secret test flight, picked over thousands of older and more experienced men and women. About the hellish time the talented young pilot had spent trapped out of sync with time, and the grit and bravery that had carried her through it. About the courageous young woman's fierce determination to come through the experience not only in one piece, but _better_ than she had been before.

No matter how bad the teasing and taunting got, Brigitte would always think about what Tracer had survived. If the other girl could come through that okay, then Brigitte could handle the nasty comments of her peers. Whenever she started to doubt her capabilities, she would picture the tiny waif she'd met at the Christmas party, and remember that Tracer had won the respect of people like Brigitte's papa and godfather largely because she simply refused to ever give up.

And now her childhood hero was right there in front of her, more than living up to Brigitte's idolization. She'd expected to be disappointed, that Tracer would turn out to have feet of clay, but Brigitte hadn't seen any sign of them yet.

Instead, the other girl was everything Brigitte had ever wanted in a friend, and more. So much more that it left Brigitte sick at heart with longing.

* * *

Gasping for air that seemed to have fled the room while she slept, Brigitte floundered her way back to consciousness out of a heated dream. She was twisted up in her sheets, clammy with sweat and yet shivering with the chill of the air against her feverish skin. 

A week ago, she might have called for Angela, thinking she was sick. A week ago, she hadn't spent every damn night dreaming about a pair of laughing brown eyes and the smile that went with them - not to mention the slender, graceful body attached. Tracer haunted her dreams, Brigitte's besotted imagination more than happy to supply fantasy after fantasy of the other woman.

Struggling free of the sheets, Brigitte lay sprawled on the bed, trying to recover her equilibrium. Her whole body throbbed, skin so sensitive that the worn-soft fabric of her t-shirt and boxers felt like sandpaper. Her nipples were furled so tightly they hurt, and the ache between her thighs was deep and desperate.

This level of _need_ was beyond Brigitte's experience, and she had no idea how to handle it. She'd had love interests in the past, mostly boys who'd shared her love of engines and mechanics. She'd made out with a few, lost her virginity in her last year of school, but they'd been largely unsatisfying experiences. None of them had come close to rousing the kind of passionate response that Tracer could wring from Brigitte without even trying. 

Fighting the urge was futile, would only leave Brigitte tossing all night, cranky with weariness and frustrated arousal the next day. Giving in, she squirmed out of the boxers she slept in, kicking free of them and moaning as the cool air kissed the wet, swollen flesh of her sex. Rolling onto her side, Brigitte thrust her hand between her thighs, shivering as she delved into the slick folds to find the hard nub within. The pleasure was so intense it was almost pain, and she turned her head to muffle her cry into her pillow.

If only Tracer really had kissed her, earlier. The other woman's lips always looked soft and plump, and Brigitte had developed a bad habit of staring at them as Tracer talked, daydreaming about what she'd taste like. Brigitte had never lusted after a woman before, hadn't thought she ever would, but she was fascinated by the contrast of soft lushness and startling strength that was Lena Oxton. 

Despite her small frame, Tracer had breasts that would overflow Brigitte's hands. She wanted to stroke and shape them, pet and lick and tease until Tracer was moaning and writhing beneath her. Brigitte knew what felt good on her own body, and Tracer was so vocal and unashamed that she would probably be more than willing to offer further guidance. Really, all Brigitte would have to do was try whatever made Tracer moan the loudest.

As incredible as her mouth would taste, Brigitte was willing to bet she'd be even more delicious in more delicate places. With the boys Brigitte had been reluctant to go down, not quite sure she wanted to go that far, but she ached with the desire to get her tongue on Tracer's clit and drive the other girl wild. What had felt like an uncomfortable intimacy now seemed like an absolute necessity.

She could only imagine how good those slender, clever fingers would feel, as Tracer turned the tables and gave Brigitte pleasure in turn. They would stroke and tease in the best way, sliding deep inside at just the right angle, thumb finding her clit and rubbing hard. Tracer was just the right height to lick and suck at Brigitte's breasts at the same time, pushing her higher and higher toward an impossible peak.

Orgasm smashed into her, and Brigitte screamed into her pillow, a short, sharp sound of exquisite pleasure. Shudders rocked her body, inner muscles squeezing hard around her fingers. Breathing hard, she rocked against the heel of her palm, riding out the aftershocks and drawing the ecstasy out as long as she could.

Finally she was forced to withdraw, too sensitive to bear any more, but still far from satisfied. Nothing seemed to truly satisfy her anymore, no matter how deep she pushed or how hard she rubbed. Only Tracer's touch could do that, and if it ever happened for real, Brigitte thought she might just die of sheer pleasure.

Too bad there was pretty much zero chance it would ever happen.


	5. Chapter 5

When she didn't see Tracer at lunch, Brigitte was disappointed, but not too worried. The other woman did have a job to do, and was probably out running a recon op. At least, so she assumed until she mentioned as much to Mei, and the scientist cocked her head with a puzzled look.

"No, she's here," Mei insisted. "I saw her about an hour ago, and she didn't say anything about a mission. It's not like her to miss a meal."

Looking around, Brigitte saw both Winston and Reinhardt on the other side of the room. Her papa was in the workshop, having chosen to skip lunch because he was in the middle of something, and Angela had returned to her hospital some time ago. Tracer certainly wouldn't have gone out alone.

Mei was right that it was unusual for Tracer to miss lunch. Brigitte had been working closely with Winston in designing armour for Tracer, wanting to be sure it integrated properly with the accelerator, and she'd been shocked to learn how much energy Tracer burned by using her chronal abilities. No wonder the other woman was little more than a waif.

Well, Tracer had certainly brought Brigitte more than a few missed meals. The least Brigitte could do was return the favour. Putting together a couple of sandwiches, she bundled them up in a cloth napkin and headed out in search of her friend.

The training room was empty, and no answer came when Brigitte knocked on the door to Tracer's quarters. Frowning, Brigitte considered her options. The only other place Tracer spent much time that Brigitte was aware of was the workshop where Brigitte could usually be found - though Torbjorn had taken to chasing the young woman off for being a disruption, much to Brigitte's dismay.

Where else might she go? The map room? Winston had been in the mess hall, so Tracer wouldn't be in his lab with him. What was left?

The hangar.

Of course. Tracer might not be flying much for Overwatch right now, but her beloved planes were still there, safely stowed away until they were needed. She certainly talked about them often enough, that being the one place her interests truly intersected with Brigitte's, giving them a point of enthusiastic common ground. Turning, Brigitte headed for the other end of the base.

The hangar wasn't near the small area the group of them had reclaimed for active use, which was why it hadn't occurred to Brigitte first. It took her a moment to find the right building, and when she first entered, she thought maybe she'd been wrong after all. The hangar was dark, only dim emergency lights providing enough of a glow to see her way around.

Then the echo of a sniffle reached her, followed by a muffled sob. And another, then one more, before the sound faded as if it had been stifled.

Frozen in place, Brigitte scrambled to decide what to do. If Tracer had come all the way out here to be alone because she was upset about something, it was a pretty good sign the other woman did _not_ want company. It was likely she didn't want anyone to see her vulnerable, without her usual shield of good cheer between her and the world.

Until that thought occurred to her, Brigitte hadn't realized that the cheer _was_ a type of armour. A more pleasant way to keep people at a distance than hostility or coldness, but still something used to hide the depth of Tracer's real emotions. Nobody was _that_ happy one hundred percent of the time.

With the new understanding held firmly in mind, Brigitte knew what she had to do. Just because someone thought they wanted to be alone, it didn't mean their friends should let them get away with it.

The quiet, intermittent sobs led her deeper into the hangar, to one of the largest troop transport ships. The main door was open, and Brigitte made her way inside. Now she could hear the soft weeping properly, a sound of heartbreak and devastation. What could possibly have happened to leave Tracer so desolate? Brigitte's chest ached in sympathy.

She'd made no effort to hide her footsteps, but Tracer must have been too lost in her sorrow to hear because she didn't look up as Brigitte entered the cockpit. She was perched in the pilot's chair, knees drawn up to her chest in a miserable huddle, face buried in her hands as her shoulders shook. 

"Lena?" The other woman's real name slipped out without thought, because in this moment her peppy nickname didn't quite feel right. 

With a shriek Tracer jerked out of her tight ball, startling badly enough Brigitte was pretty sure she actually put some air between her and the chair for a moment. A datapad clattered to the floor, screen showing what looked like an email. Tear tracks streaked Tracer's cheeks, wetness trembled on her lashes and cast a sheen over her pretty brown eyes. "Wha... Brigitte!"

Clearly horrified at being caught out, Tracer wiped hastily at her face with both hands. Kneeling beside the pilot's chair to put them on the same level, Brigitte caught her wrists and tugged them away.

"Hey, it's okay." Brigitte kept her tone as soft and gentle as she could, as if dealing with a frightened child or animal. "I'm your friend, aren't I? You don't need to hide from me."

Tracer's lower lip wobbled as another sob caught in her throat, and her whole body shuddered. Her wrists turned in Brigitte's grip so she could wrap her hands around Brigitte's wrists in turn, hanging on tight. "I'm a mess. I don't want you to see me like this."

"Mess? You've seen me covered in grease streaks and grumpy from a day of work without eating," Brigitte pointed out. "Yet you think this qualifies as a mess?"

As she'd hoped, the quip drew a tiny, watery chuckle from the other woman. "The grease is cute on you. Complements your freckles."

Freeing one hand, she stroked it over Tracer's spiky hair, Brigitte trying her best to offer comfort without pushing _too_ far. "What happened? Bad news?"

Glancing down at the datapad, Tracer shook her head - though not in a way that would dislodge Brigitte's petting hand. "No, nothing like that. Just the opposite, actually. A wedding invitation."

Half certain she'd heard wrong, Brigitte repeated, "A wedding invitation?"

"From my ex," Tracer clarified with a crooked smile that held none of her usual easy amusement. "Wanted to let me know there's no hard feelings, hope we can still be friends, and all that."

Well, that made a bit more sense. Clearly Tracer still had some very deep feelings for this ex, if she was this heartbroken about it. "How long were you together?"

"Six years, give or take a few months." Sniffling again, Tracer wiped her eyes, brushing away fresh tears. "Emily wasn't just my lover, she was my best friend. I'm happy for her, really I am, but..."

"But it still hurts." The words were automatic, because Brigitte's mind was caught on one word of that sentence. _She_. The confirmation that Tracer was interested in women, that Brigitte had any chance at all with her, set her mind spinning. With an effort, she wrenched it back on track. This was more important than her crush, because Tracer was _hurting_. 

"When did you break up?" Brigitte was trying to do the math in her head. Tracer was only a few years older than Brigitte, so if the other woman had been with her lover for six years, they must have been high school sweethearts.

The crooked smile grew, but it wasn't in a good way. "Five months ago."

"Five _months_? And she's already getting married?" Brigitte stared at her. She’d expected it to be a year or two. So much for high school sweethearts. "That's... ouch. Yeah. I'm sorry." 

Six years together, and while Tracer was still devastated by the breakup, Emily had already moved on to the point of a lifetime commitment? Small wonder Tracer was heartbroken.

Given her reaction, it was a pretty safe bet that Tracer hadn't been the one to end the relationship. To love someone that much, and then have them not only leave you, but find a replacement so quickly, would be a slap in the face.

Brigitte had never suffered true heartbreak, never cared about any of her scattered boyfriends enough to feel more than passing regret at the end of the relationships. But even she could see that sending Tracer that wedding invitation was thoughtlessly cruel.

"To be fair, there's a baby announcement after the wedding invite," Tracer said, her voice rough with the tears she was still struggling to hold back. "Which is probably why the fast wedding. Emily always wanted kids so badly. It was probably the thing we fought about most often. Definitely part of the reason she left me."

"You don't want kids?" Brigitte couldn't even imagine that. Growing up in the close-knit Lindholm clan, now all but drowning in her various nieces and nephews, she had always known that she wanted a big family of her own someday. 

"Sure I do, in five or ten years. I’m still in my twenties!" Tracer shook her head, and flung her hand out as if indicating the whole Watchpoint. "Not to mention, how could I take responsibility for a baby in the midst of all _this_? I want things to be more settled, to not be going out to illegally risk my life all the time, before I think about bringing a child into the world. I wanna be a mom, not a genetic donor."

"That certainly sounds reasonable to me." Brigitte likewise had a hazy 'someday' timeline for that big family. She was still stroking Tracer's hair, and the other girl had leaned closer and closer as they spoke. Now Brigitte took the last step and curved her hand around Tracer's head, urging her to close the distance and rest against Brigitte's shoulder.

After the briefest moment of token resistance, Tracer broke down and collapsed against Brigitte's chest. Her hands came up to clutch the front of Brigitte's coveralls, not seeming to care about the grease, oil, and paint streaks all over the fabric. She sobbed again, the tears soaked up by Brigitte's shirt, trembling as Brigitte wrapped her arms around Tracer and held her close.

"I _am_ happy for her," Tracer mumbled some time later, her weeping slowly subsiding. "Really, I am. It's everything she always wanted, and her fiance can give her a more stable life than I could offer. I'm the one who made the choice that I couldn't walk away from Overwatch, even if it meant the end of the relationship."

"She's the one who asked you to make that choice," Brigitte countered. "But if she couldn't understand what drove you to be who you are, couldn't love you _for_ that instead of _despite_ that..."

"Then it would have broken down eventually," Tracer finished. "I know. Believe me, I've had this argument with myself quite a few times in the last months."

Sighing, she pushed herself away from Brigitte, putting space between them again. Brigitte let her arms fall away, trying not to feel chilled where Tracer's warmth had rested against her moments before.

Tracer found the strength for a smile that was still watery, but more genuine than the last one. "I've been moving on, getting over her. Honest. This just hit me hard, and I didn't expect it."

"No shame in that. But next time, don't creep off to hide and hurt in solitude," Brigitte scolded her. "You wouldn't let me do that, would you?"

"Thanks, Brigitte." Another hug, this one brief and tight, a gesture of gratitude instead of a desperate plea for comfort. "You're a good friend."

For a moment they were face to face, inches apart, in an atmosphere of intense intimacy. Brigitte's heart skipped a beat, then pounded hard, as she found herself breathless. It would be so easy to close that distance, brush her lips over Tracer's. Offer a different sort of comfort, reassurance that the other woman was attractive and desirable. 

Wrenching her libido back under control, Brigitte blew out a breath and stood. Now was not the time. Yes, Tracer was attracted to women, but that didn't mean she was interested in Brigitte. And even if by some impossible chance she _was_ , it would be wrong to take advantage of her vulnerable emotional state.

"C'mon," she invited, holding a hand down to Tracer. "I've got something that should cheer you up. I was planning to surprise you tomorrow morning, but I think you could use a pick-me-up." Tracer clearly needed cheering more than she needed a couple of sandwiches to replace one missed meal.

"Ooh, a present?" Tracer put her hand in Brigitte's, tiny and delicate against Brigitte's scarred and callused fingers, and let Brigitte help her out of the seat. "I love surprises. What is it?"

She chirped the words with a good imitation of her usual cheer, but this time Brigitte was able to see through it, spot the fragility beneath. On impulse, she slung her arm over Tracer's shoulders in a half hug. "You'll see when we get there."

Far from objecting to the closeness, Tracer slipped her arm around Brigitte's waist in turn, cuddling in. She fit perfectly, just the right height to snuggle against Brigitte's side. It felt good in a way that nothing ever had with her boyfriends in the past.

Instead of any of their usual hangouts, Brigitte steered them up to Winston's workshop, drawing a curious look from Tracer. Thankfully, the big gorilla was back from lunch, because Brigitte wouldn't have invaded his space without his invitation.

When he spotted them Winston adjusted his glasses as if he might be seeing things. "Tracer. Brigitte. What can I do for you?"

"Heck if I know," Tracer replied, her warm and cheerful attitude now firmly back in place. "Apparently, there's a present for me here."

"Ah. Yes, of course. Come in." The invitation sounded hesitant, almost nervous, and Brigitte frowned. They hadn't planned to do this until tomorrow, but surely a few hours wouldn't make that much difference?

Sliding out from under Brigitte's arm, Tracer planted her hands on her hips and studied Winston. After a moment her lips tilted in a wry smile. "You heard about the wedding and you're trying to decide whether or not to tell me, aren't you?"

Blowing out a huge sigh, Winston nodded and relaxed. His expressions weren't quite the same as a human's, his face structured differently, but Brigitte had learned to read him well enough to tell his smile was sheepish. "She sent me an invitation. I don't think she expects me to actually _come_ , but it was a nice gesture."

"You should _totally_ go," Tracer laughed. "That'd set them on their ears, wouldn't it? And why not? You're her friend, too. I'm glad she hasn't forgotten that."

There was still a wobble hidden in her voice, but if Brigitte hadn't caught the other woman sobbing her eyes out, she would have absolutely believed that Tracer wasn't upset about her ex's upcoming wedding.

"I wouldn't do that to her." Winston shook his head, but his smile widened. "I'm glad you're okay with it."

"I'll be even better when I get this mystery present," Tracer replied, as impatient as a kid at Christmas. "Where is it, already?"

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that always felt like it vibrated straight through Brigitte and warmed her from the inside out. She'd grown up with her papa's stories about the talking gorilla, had never thought of him as anything but a person, but she'd never had a chance to get to know him. Now he was probably her closest friend at the Watchpoint, other than Tracer.

Largely because of the very object he now walked over to, a sheet-covered, vaguely humanoid shape. They'd spent hours working together on this project, both of them enthusiastic about protecting the woman they each loved in their own way.

The thought made Brigitte's heart skip a beat. Until now, she'd been insisting to herself that this was nothing more than simple infatuation - powerful and hard to shake off, but a passing fancy. Finally she gave in and admitted that her feelings had gone much deeper than that, shifting to something more real and enduring. 

Whether Tracer ever returned her interest or not, there was no going back now. 

"You built me an Omnic?" Tracer made a facetious guess, her eyes sparkling. "Are you saying I need more friends?"

"Not exactly." Winston whipped the sheet off, revealing a mannequin roughly Tracer's size, wearing a harness rig that bore only passing resemblance to the bulky chronal accelerator currently strapped to Tracer's chest. "Ta-dah."

Eyes wide and laughter fading into awe, Tracer moved closer to examine it. "Is that a new accelerator? It's so slim! I thought you said you couldn't compact it any further?"

"That's because he was trying to make sure it wouldn't get damaged or jostled out of alignment," Brigitte said, hands on her hips. "Most of what he had built in there was armour to ensure the accelerator stayed where it was supposed to be - it has to remain in exact position relative to you, that's why it's strapped so tight."

"As it turns out, I should perhaps have thought to consult an armour specialist right from the beginning," Winston added, and if a gorilla could blush, Brigitte was pretty sure he was doing so. "Then again, I'm not sure just any specialist would have helped. Brigitte has come up with some truly innovative solutions that would never have occurred to me."

"I had to give up on the idea of full armour for you," Brigitte admitted. "Armour can be light, flexible, or strong, but never all three. You were right in the first place; anything heavy enough to make a difference would slow you down too much and get you killed a lot faster."

"Aw, that's okay." Tracer smiled, but Brigitte held up her hand to indicate she wasn't finished.

Grinning, she explained, "Winston was the one who reminded me that armour isn't the only way to protect someone." Reaching out, she tapped a button on the side of the accelerator, and a dim blue glow sprang into being around the mannequin.

"A shield generator!" Tracer's eyes were wide again, and she looked delighted. "How could you possibly get the power source for that _and_ the accelerator into that little chestpiece?"

"Because the accelerator _is_ the power source," Winston laughed. "Yes, the accelerator itself needs a dedicated power source to function. But a side effect of it combating your constant, minuscule chronal displacements is a form of temporal energy. Together, we figured out how to harness that and use it to feed into the shield generator, and provide a secondary power source back into the accelerator."

"Allowing us to reduce the size of the main generator, save the space, and give you the extra protection," Brigitte finished, smug with success. "I wouldn't go wading head first into a Bastion unit's turret fire, but it will absorb a shot that might have been lethal, and give you more buffer time to rewind.

"You two are the _best_!" Tracer exclaimed, and all but tackled Winston in a full-body hug. He ruffled her hair in return, and then she turned and threw herself at Brigitte.

Because she'd known it was coming, Brigitte managed to brace herself. Not against the physical impact - Tracer was half her size and weight, it would take a lot more than an over-enthusiastic hug for her to topple Brigitte. It was the emotional impact she had to ward herself against, so she wouldn't give anything away. 

Tracer was soft and warm and sweet-scented against her, arms around Brigitte's neck as she went up on tip-toe for the hug. The embrace made Brigitte painfully aware of every inch of the other woman's body pressed against her.

Compromising with herself, Brigitte wrapped her arms around Tracer's waist in turn and leaned over the smaller woman, nuzzling briefly against the spiky hair. Tracer smelled of lemon, a bright scent that matched her usual attitude, perky and cheerful and happy. For the second time in an hour, Brigitte had to resist the temptation to close the distance and kiss the other woman, find out if Tracer tasted anywhere near as good as she smelled.

Damn, now she had a mental image of joining Tracer in the shower, pouring citrus-scented body wash into her hands, and then smoothing it all over the other woman's naked, water-slick body. She bit back a groan, but it was a close thing. No question what she'd be dreaming about, tonight.

Clearing her throat, Brigitte finally released Tracer and stepped back. Winston had a strange expression she couldn't quite read, his head cocked as he watched the two of them. Had Brigitte gotten lost in her daydreams and held on too long? Tracer didn't seem to think anything significant had happened, or she was hiding it very well.

"There's still a lot of work to do on it," she warned Tracer, struggling to keep a husky note out of her voice. "We need to do a million tests before you should wear it into a real battle. We'll do the first ones tomorrow morning... assuming you actually wake up in time for our workout, of course."

As usual, the teasing made Tracer blush bright red. This time, it also drew a baffled look from Winston. The big gorilla adjusted his glasses, staring at Tracer. "Since when do you ever not wake up at the crack of dawn?"

If anything, the comment made Tracer flush harder. She laughed and made a gesture as if waving Winston's words aside. "What, I can't outgrow my hyperactive morning chipmunk phase?"

Brigitte snorted a laugh, and then clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent another such undignified sound from escaping. It was a good description of Tracer when the other woman did manage to haul herself out of bed. "Who called you that? Papa?"

"No, it was Jesse McCree," Tracer replied with a giggle of her own. "He was _not_ a happy camper before his first cup of coffee in the morning."

Winston nodded at the mannequin. "You're welcome to take it with you now, but keep the old one close at hand. At the first sign of any problems..."

"I'll switch it out," Tracer promised. "Don't worry, Winston, I'll be careful. I don't want to get lost in time again." Then, to Brigitte's shock, she pushed herself up on tiptoe again and kissed Brigitte soundly on the cheek. "You give the _best_ presents, love." She blinked over to the new accelerator, and started unlatching the harness of the old one so she could shrug it off.

Stunned, Brigitte lifted her hand and brushed it against the place where Tracer's lips had met her skin. Then she realized what she was doing and dropped it again hastily, but Winston was already smiling at her as if he knew a secret. 

"It's good to see Lena actually smiling again, instead of pretending to," he said in a soft rumble that only Brigitte would hear. "I've done my best, but she opens up to you in a way she doesn't with me."

Happy she wasn't the only one who'd noticed that Tracer's cheer wasn't always genuine, Brigitte nodded. "I'm glad I was able to raise her spirits. She's been a good friend."

"Oh, I think there's a bit more to it than that." Before Brigitte could come up with a response for that - or demand to know what he meant - Winston turned back to Tracer and raised his voice. "How's it fit?"

"It's perfect!" Tracer blinked to one side, then forward, then rewound back to where she'd started. Her smile was huge as she bounced on her toes. "So light I can hardly feel it. Nothing'll be able to hit me with this."

"We'll see about that." Brigitte challenged her, putting Winston's strange comments out of her mind for the moment. "First thing tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Better bring your A game, because I'm gonna wipe the floor with you." Tracer's eyes sparkled with answering challenge. Winston was right that this smile was ever so subtly different - not that the others hadn't been genuine, but there had always been a tiny edge of something not quite right, invisible until Brigitte had the real thing to compare it to.

Yeah, Brigitte was definitely too far gone to save, because in that moment she knew she would do anything to see that smile again.


	6. Chapter 6

Now that Winston had spilled the beans about how unusual it was for Tracer to 'sleep in', she tried to resist the urge to indulge herself in morning fantasies. She never should have been doing it in the first place, and she knew it. Every time she snuck into the monitoring room to watch instead of going down to participate, she risked Brigitte finding out and potentially being upset or offended.

But god, the temptation. Tracer was known for her strong-willed determination, but even she had limits. And Brigitte definitely pushed them.

Unfortunately, the handful of times she _had_ indulged herself previously had set up a rather Pavlovian response in her to seeing Brigitte work out. Being up close and personal instead of at a distance behind glass did nothing to mitigate the effect - quite the opposite. 

From close up Tracer could see how Brigitte would grow flushed with exertion and triumph as they smashed their way through robotic opponents together. Her eyes were inevitably drawn to Brigitte's breasts when the other woman's chest heaved with exertion, and to the way beads of sweat would trickle down her throat and into the low neckline of her tank top.

And every time, Tracer would grow damp in a way that had nothing to do with sweat or exercise, liquid heat pooling low in her body until she had to press her thighs together to contain the need. That made it rather difficult to run and jump around, and she'd been forced to buy workout pants that didn't have a seam down the center, so that she had a chance of making it through without the risk of embarrassing herself. 

At least Brigitte had no reason to suspect that Tracer's flushed cheeks and ragged breathing had any cause beyond exertion. She almost wished Brigitte _would_ notice, because then at least Tracer would have some idea how the other woman might react to knowing that Tracer lusted after her.

She lasted nearly two full weeks before finally succumbing to temptation again. She was both bizarrely proud of making it that long, and cross that she had so little self-control.

Slipping into the observation area, Tracer took up a position just to one side of the window, where she could see most of the floor below but wouldn't be immediately visible if Brigitte looked up. She'd timed it so the other woman would be finishing her warmup and reaching the conclusion that Tracer wasn't going to be there. Sure enough, Athena was just now sending the target robots into position. It looked like Brigitte was setting up for a practice run through an obstacle course of sorts. 

Just knowing she was going to watch today had Tracer drowning in arousal from the moment she woke up. Really, it was a bit pathetic how easily thinking about Brigitte could turn her on. She'd already gotten off once, sprawled out vulnerable and needy on her bed, but that wasn't nearly enough to satisfy her. 

Pretty much nothing satisfied her anymore, not really. It had been like this when she and Emily first got together, too - a deep-seated craving for the touch of her lover that her own hand couldn't fulfill. She and Em had jumped on each other like rabbits at every opportunity.

Mind, they'd still been pretty rabbit-like right up until the end, but after the first few months together Tracer had at least been able to satisfy herself alone when she and Emily were apart. 

For the first time, thoughts of Emily didn't bring a deep stab of hurt with them. There was still sorrow and regret, but it was a surface grief, easily brushed aside in favour of admiring the way Brigitte's biceps curved as she swung her mace and destroyed a target.

Biting her lip, Tracer slipped her hand down under the waistband of her pants, but still outside her panties. Gently she rubbed the soft fabric against sensitive flesh, shaping and moulding and petting until the satin grew damp and clung. She could feel the bump of her clit beneath, raked her nails over it in a way that would have hurt if it had been direct contact, but felt amazing through the thin barrier of silk.

"Tracer."

The unexpected deep voice made Tracer shriek and jump in surprise, whirling to put her back to the wall and face the intruder. Thankfully the move also yanked her hand out of her pants, so that by the time she was facing Winston, it wasn't obvious what she'd just been doing.

God, she hoped it wasn't obvious. At least her fingers weren't yet slick and wet, only damp at the tips in a way that probably wouldn't be noticeable. 

Bollocks, how good was Winston's sense of smell?

While her mind was spinning in panic, Winston regarded her with a bemused smile, pushing his glasses up on his nose in a habitual gesture. "So this is where you go when you 'sleep in'. I had a suspicion."

Groaning, Tracer buried her face in her hands and slumped back against the wall, letting it support most of her weight. Too bad her rewind ability didn't actually take her back in time, so she could stop herself from making an idiot of herself. "What did you do, ask Athena to notify you if I did anything other than go train when I woke up?"

"Well, yes." Winston had the grace to sound embarrassed by the admission, and apologetic. "I've been concerned about you, Lena."

The unexpected use of her real name drew Tracer back out of her funk, and she gave her friend a rueful smile. Winston was one of the few people who used it, but even he didn't do it often, so it always felt like a special intimacy when he did. "I'm sorry, I know I've been dragging around like a wet lump since I got here. Really, I'm okay now."

He chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest, and loped over to ruffle her hair. "Don't worry, only someone who knows you well would have noticed. Of course, that's most of the people currently living at this base. But I admit, I haven't been as concerned about that aspect since the night we unveiled your new accelerator armour. It was pretty clear that you were moving on from Emily, after all."

Sighing, she cuddled up against his side, enjoying the warmth he radiated like an oversized furnace. "Bloody hell. Is it that obvious?" She'd thought she was doing a better job of hiding her infatuation, not wanting to scare Brigitte off.

"Again, only because I know you well, and because I was looking for it." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders in turn, always happy to play living teddy bear for her. Theirs was a bit of an odd relationship, but it worked well for them. Even after years apart, they'd slid back into the causal affection as easily as if it had been only days since they'd last been together. 

"Why are you worried about me, then?"

"Because you haven't _done_ anything about it," Winston told her, unexpectedly serious. "That's not like you. When you see something you want, you go after it full-throttle and whole-hearted. Did Emily break your confidence that badly? What did she say to you in the breakup that hurt you so much?"

It was an understandable assumption, because Winston was right that holding back wasn't something Tracer usually did. Part of her almost wanted to leave things at that, but she couldn't bear for Winston to unfairly think badly of Emily. "It wasn't like that, big guy. I mean, it hurt, of course it did. But she wasn't nasty about it, and I understand why she felt she had to end it. She deserves a chance to have the family she wants, and a partner whose first focus is her. I couldn't give her that."

"Then why?"

Struggling to put her awkward feelings into words, Tracer chewed on her lower lip. Was there any way to explain this without making herself sound like a total git? Probably not. With a grimace, she gave in. "I don't know how."

That made Winston blink at her in befuddled confusion. "I don't understand. How to what?"

"I don't know how to date!" Tracer threw her hands up in frustration. "Do you really think I became Overwatch's youngest ever pilot by spending my teenage years drooling over pretty girls? While other kids my age were flirting, I was running flight simulations. Em was my first relationship, and _she_ seduced _me_. I've no bloody clue where to even start."

Lifting one massive hand, Winston stroked over her hair. "I had no idea she was your first girlfriend. No wonder you were so devastated. Unfortunately, I'm hardly the best person to ask for dating advice."

He said the last words in an extremely dry tone that made Tracer giggle. "Too bad I'm not interested in men. You and I would make a fantastic couple. Or else the worst, most awkward couple ever. Possibly both at the same time?"

"Too bad I'm not interested in humans," Winston countered with a chuckle of his own. "But it means a great deal to me that you see my gender as more of a deterrent than my species."

"Aw, you're a sweetheart." She hugged him tight. "Any girl would be lucky to have you. Besides, have you seen how furry some guys get? Arm hair, chest hair, _back_ hair..."

This time he laughed, which was what she'd hoped for. "I don't think it's _quite_ the same thing. Regardless, you and I are not the pairing up for discussion. You'll never get anywhere if you don't at least try."

"I know, but..." Tracer rubbed at her face. "The last thing I want to do is screw up our friendship. What if I make a move, and that ruins everything? What if that makes it awkward for us to work together? I don't even know how to tell if she's interested in women."

He made a rumbling sound that wasn't quite a laugh, as if he'd swallowed one. "Again, I'm no expert. But I don't think that's a concern."

Brow furrowed, she looked up at him. "What do you know that I don't?"

"Only the way she looks at you when you aren't watching." He patted her head one last time, then released her. "Stop mooning about up here, pining over her. Go down and talk. Don't worry about flirting, just be yourself; friendly and charming and cheerful."

When she hesitated, still unsure, he planted his giant hand on her back and shoved her gently toward the door. Smiling ruefully, Tracer gave up and let him push her out. There was no budging a two hundred kilo gorilla once he decided you needed to go somewhere.

As she approached the training room, any boost of confidence from his reassurance faded quickly. With the moment of truth at hand, Tracer literally had no idea what she was going to say. Winston had said not to try to flirt, but blurting out 'hey would you like to snog' didn't seem like the right way to go, either.

Brigitte was wrapping up her first run through the course as Tracer entered. She was panting and sweating, wincing as she stretched out her mace arm. When she caught sight of Tracer, her whole face lit up. "Hej hej. You made it after all."

"I, uh." It felt like her tongue had literally been tied into an unusable knot. Swallowing, she tried again, voice quivering with nerves. "Can we talk?"

All the light fled Brigitte's eyes, and her expression crumpled. It was such an extreme reaction that Tracer was taken aback, wondering what on earth she'd said to provoke that much despair.

"I'm so sorry," Brigitte apologized, to Tracer's further confusion. "Damn it, I knew I was being too obvious. I really didn't mean to be inappropriate, or put any pressure on you. Please, you're such a good friend, I don't want to lose you. I'll be better."

"Huh?" Nothing the other woman had said made any sense to Tracer, leaving her floundering in a conversational void. "What are you talking about?"

"Um." Brigitte turned a fascinating shade of tomato red, her dusting of freckles standing out against the brighter colour. "Oh. I thought you'd... can we pretend I didn't say any of that? What did you want to talk about?"

 _'Only the way she looks at you when you aren't watching'._ Well, Tracer was watching now, and she was starting to understand why Winston had been laughing. 

Her lips twitching, she put her hands on her hips and cocked her head, regarding Brigitte with amusement. "Have we really both been trying so desperately to hide our feelings that neither of us ever bothered to see how the other one was reacting? Quite the pair we make, don't we."

"What?" Brigitte blinked, stunned realization slowly dawning. "Wait, are you saying..."

Blinking forward to close the distance between them, she looped her arms around Brigitte's neck, smiling sheepishly. "It's possible I've been missing our practice sessions because I take a great deal of pleasure in watching you work out."

"You were watching me the whole time? Every time?" Brigitte wrapped her hands around Tracer's waist, holding her in place, pressed together chest to chest.

Taking risks was nothing unusual for Tracer, but this might be the biggest risk she'd ever dared. Good thing the reward was going to be just as big. "When I say a great deal of pleasure, I maaaay be referring to a somewhat inappropriate amount of it."

Brigitte's breath caught, her pupils going wide as her hands tightened on Tracer's waist. Her expression was one of heated interest, not offended repugnance. "Oh, really? How inappropriate are we talking, exactly?"

Blushing harder, Tracer smiled up at her. _This_ game she knew how to play, and play it well. Now that she knew the attention was welcome, she was back on even footing. "Let's just say, I'm very grateful Winston didn't come in a minute or two later. That would've been bloody awkward."

She brushed her fingers over Brigitte's lips, following the pretty curve, wondering if the other woman would be able to taste the hints of Tracer's arousal still lingering on her fingertips. Whether she did or not, Brigitte's reaction was instant and gratifying, a soft gasp and shiver. When Brigitte leaned down as if to kiss her, however, Tracer shifted her hand to stop her.

The crestfallen look she got in return warned Tracer that she was going to have to be very careful. Brigitte reminded her of herself, when Emily had first seduced her - shy and uncertain and _wanting_ so badly that she was constantly afraid of screwing it up and losing the chance instead. Emily had been gentle with her, and she would bloody well do the same.

She gave Brigitte a reassuring smile. "If you kiss me here, I'm going to forget all about the fact that this is a public room," she murmured, voice husky. "I've had far too many fantasies about 'accidentally' mis-timing a blink and ending up with you pinning me to the floor. With things leading in an appropriately steamy direction from there."

" _Oh_." The heat in Brigitte's eyes felt like it might scorch Tracer from within, and she gave a shy smile in return. "I, uh. Might have had a few daydreams about laying you out on my workbench, to find out what you taste like."

Now _that_ was an enticing image. "I think we ought to talk to Winston about getting you a separate workroom from Torbjorn. With a lock on the door." With one last glide of her thumb over Brigitte's cheek, she reluctantly pulled back. "But if we don't stop talking about that, you might as well kiss me because I'm gonna forget anyway. Shall we go upstairs?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Grinning, Brigitte caught Tracer's hand in hers and brushed a kiss over her fingertips, then held tight. "Lead the way."


	7. Chapter 7

Tracer's room was closest, so that was where they ended up. Brigitte was all but jittering with eager anticipation and anxious trepidation. It almost felt like she was drunk, high on the knowledge that Tracer wanted her just as badly, that she was _finally_ going to get to act out some of her fantasies.

If she could only get out of her own way and not trip over herself in the process.

The moment the door slid closed behind them, Tracer was in her arms again, a soft, warm bundle of beautiful woman. The new accelerator was slender enough not to give them any problems pressing together, though it was disappointing to have the hardness against her instead of the other woman's lush breasts.

"I've never done this before," Brigitte admitted nervously, figuring it would be best to be honest rather than try to be suave and screw up. "With a woman, I mean."

"I don’t mind." Tracer smiled and slipped her arms around Brigitte's neck again, going up on tiptoe to help close the distance between them. "It'll be fun to teach you." 

She was so tiny, barely coming up to Brigitte's shoulders, her waist slender enough that Brigitte could almost span it with her hands. She'd kissed a few boys who were shorter than her, but never more than an inch or two. 

Despite that, when their mouths finally met and sealed together, nothing had ever felt like it fit better. Brigitte's heart pounded as Tracer licked at her lips, and she parted for the other woman to slip her tongue in. Tracer tasted like mint and citrus, her mouth warm and soft, silky lips sliding over Brigitte's chapped ones.

Groaning, Brigitte locked her hands around Tracer's waist and lifted without thinking, wanting to get a better angle. Far from objecting, Tracer hooked her legs around Brigitte's waist in turn, clinging tight as they continued to devour each other. 

Remembering what Tracer had said about her fantasy of Brigitte pinning her down, Brigitte took two steps forward until she had Tracer's back against a wall, and leaned in hard. To her delight, Tracer gasped and broke the kiss to throw her head back, eyes heavy-lidded with desire. 

"You like that?" Brigitte asked, wanting to be sure she got it right.

"Mmm." Tracer smoothed her hands over Brigitte's upper arms, petting the muscles with long, slow strokes of appreciation. "You can throw me down and ravish me anytime, love. God, you're gorgeous."

The compliment surprised her, especially with the fervent tone it was delivered in. Brigitte smiled, hesitant but happy. "You really think so?"

"Now, who did the number on your self-confidence?" Tracer's heated look turned into one of disbelief. "You literally stunned me stupid when we met, you know. I've never been that tongue-tied. It was the first time since Em ended us that I'd looked at anyone that way, and you completely blindsided me. "

"People often call me 'mannish'," Brigitte admitted. "I never let it bother me - or at least, I didn't think I did, until you said that and I realized how much it meant."

"Pffff what?" Tracer spluttered with laughter. "Mannish! Let me tell you, I have _zero_ interest in men, but you're the hottest thing at this base. Beautiful and sexy and strong. Then you proved you’re intelligent and loyal and caring, too. That was pretty much the end of it for me. I've been dreaming about doing this ever since."

Every word seemed to settle into Brigitte's chest, where they expanded her heart and lifted her up until it felt like she was floating. There wasn't a hint of exaggeration in Tracer's voice, and Brigitte knew the other woman was _not_ the type to throw compliments around just to get into someone's pants. She meant every bit of the praise with all her heart.

"Well, you're pretty damn sexy yourself," Brigitte murmured, shifting one arm so she could slide her hand up Tracer's side, behind her neck, and then up to curl her fingers in the spiky, dark hair. As she'd noted before, it was surprisingly soft, clinging to her fingers like silk as she used the hold to tip Tracer's head back for another kiss.

That won her an enthusiastic moan, and Tracer all but melted against her. The other woman's nails dug into Brigitte's shoulders, but it was encouragement, not a protest. Experimentally, Brigitte tightened her grip and tugged and Tracer gasped and shuddered against her.

Brigitte had never taken the lead in her few sexual encounters, but with Tracer it felt natural for her to do so. She pushed harder against the other woman, all but crushing Tracer against the wall, and tugged at her hair again. Breaking away for air, she ducked her head to trail kisses along Tracer's jaw and down her neck, nipping hard every few inches.

"You sure you've never done this before?" Tracer's words were breathless, feathered with heat. 

"I didn't say I'd never done _anything_ ," Brigitte pointed out, even though she _was_ pretty much making this up as she went along. At least Tracer made it easy, with her encouraging responses and unashamed enjoyment of every touch. All Brigitte needed to do was continue whatever caress made the other woman moan the loudest.

She skimmed her other hand over Tracer's hip, up to her waist, but the accelerator blocked her from going any further. Instead, she shifted downward again, until her fingers cupped the smooth, firm curve of Tracer's ass. She squeezed and kneaded, all the while sucking and licking at a spot just above the collarbone that Tracer seemed to find particularly sensitive.

Panting, Tracer gripped Brigitte's shoulders tight with both hands, as if clinging for dear life. She threw her head back against the wall, tipping her chin to open the line of her throat and give Brigitte better access. "Did you really fantasize about eating me out on your workbench?"

"Oh, yes." Her response was more fervent than Brigitte had intended, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it. "So many times. I'd have had your accelerator armour built twice as fast if it weren't for the fact that working on it meant thinking about you, and thinking about you meant..."

"Hmm?" Tracer wriggled in her hold, rubbing her chest against Brigitte's. "Meant what? What did you think about, exactly? Using the end of one of your tools on me, maybe? Some of those screwdriver handles look like they might be fun."

Her words indicated Brigitte wasn't the only one who'd been fantasizing about sex in the workshop. Brigitte's breasts ached, feeling heavy and full, nipples pressed into tight peaks against the cups of her bra. "They can be," she admitted shyly. "In a pinch. But why settle for a tool handle when I can build something so much better?"

Shifting her hands, Tracer cupped Brigitte's face and urged her to lift her head, so their eyes met. Tracer's were wide and astonished. "Are you saying you built your own vibrators? Damn, you could... oooh, you could make anything you wanted, couldn't you?"

"It's one of the reasons I never bothered much with the boys," Brigitte laughed, sheepish. "Machines are a lot more reliable. They don't get tired, or come too fast and pull away, or forget about making sure I'm enjoying it, too." She paused, then added softly, "Until I met you, I thought maybe the machines were all I really needed. I never understood what more I might get out of having a real person. But I think I'm happier spending an hour with you smiling at me than getting off on them."

"That's a high compliment from a mechanic." Tracer kissed her again, slow and sweet, then nuzzled at her cheek. "Care to show them off? Now I'm dead curious."

Of course, now that Tracer had asked to see, Brigitte could only think about all the flaws in her homemade toys. She'd never bothered to make them pretty, just functional. "Um. They're in my room, and right now I'd much rather strip you down and kiss you everywhere than take the time to relocate."

Moaning, Tracer squirmed again. "Yes, please. Now."

"You'll have to let go," Brigitte pointed out reluctantly. With a short huff of frustration, Tracer obeyed, unlocking her legs from around Brigitte's waist and letting them fall. Brigitte backed away from the wall enough to allow Tracer to slide down to her feet, but stayed as close as she could otherwise. Her hands were busy on the fastenings of the accelerator. For the first time in her life, she wasn't in the least bit interested in the armour, but rather in the enticing flesh that lay beneath it.

She had to pull away to lift the accelerator over Tracer's head, exposing the thin shirt she wore beneath to work out in. Unlike the old accelerator, Brigitte's design didn't rub or chafe or pinch, so the other woman no longer needed the heavy leather jacket to protect her delicate skin all the time. The white shirt was damp with sweat, just enough to be see-through, showing off the lacy pink half-cup bra she wore beneath, and the luscious curve of her breasts hugged tight by the fabric.

Tracer wasn't idle, her hands finding the hem of Brigitte's loose tank top and pushing it up, trailing over the firm muscle beneath. She made appreciative noises as her fingers explored the ridges and contours of Brigitte's abs. Continuing further up, she cupped her hands over the mounds of Brigitte's breasts, kneading the soft flesh and letting the tight nipples brush against her palms through the bra.

With a little cry, Brigitte shuddered and went still, breathing hard. Tracer grinned and repeated the gesture, then pinched the hard peaks and tugged gently. "You like that, love?"

Breathless, Brigitte nodded. She cried out again, a sound of protest this time, when Tracer pulled her hands away, but the other woman only lifted them to tug at the neckline of Brigitte's top, shifting it down over her breasts so that they were plumped up by the tight fabric stretched beneath. She was wearing a utilitarian white sports bra, the same kind she always wore - she'd never bothered with silky, lacy things, not really seeing the point. Now she wished otherwise, wanting Tracer to look at her with as much heat in her eyes as possible.

Not that the plain bra seemed to be stopping her from doing that. She shaped and petted Brigitte's breasts through the stretchy fabric, then pulled it down as well to reveal the dark, tightly furled nipples. "Mannish," she snorted, with clear disdain for the long ago boys who'd teased Brigitte. "Were they blind? You've got lovely curves in _all_ the right places. Just the way I like it."

Ducking her head, she teased one nipple with her lips. Brigitte gasped and fisted her hand in Tracer's hair again, tugging because the other woman liked it so much. Tracer took that as the encouragement it was meant to be, closing her lips over the peak and sucking, then swirling her tongue around it.

This was _nothing_ like the few fumbling attempts the boys had made at pawing her breasts. Probably inexperience had more to do with that than gender, but it didn't matter why. It only mattered that Tracer was driving her out of her mind, licking and sucking and even letting Brigitte feel the edge of her teeth sometimes. The teasing left her breathless and shivering, clutching at Tracer for support as much as pleasure.

Belatedly it occurred to her that this wasn't supposed to be a one-sided affair. "Take your shirt off," she said, trying to make it a command rather than a plea. "I want to touch you, too."

"I'll do you one better," Tracer replied, and reluctantly broke away to reach, not for the hem of her shirt, but the waist of her pants. She skimmed them down past her hips, then let them fall to the floor and stepped out of them, leaving her in only the t-shirt that brushed the top of her thighs. Beneath the hem Brigitte caught glimpses of more lacy pink to match the bra, with dark curls a hidden shadow beneath.

When Tracer paused with her hands on the hem, one eyebrow raised, Brigitte realized she was standing there staring like an idiot. Quickly she shed her own clothes, and emerged from the shirt and bra to find Tracer now down to the undergarments.

" _Wow._ " The breathy praise escaped her before Brigitte could try to stop it. So much for any hope of sounding suave. Too late now, so she might as well run with it. "You want to talk about beautiful curves. Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

A light flush crept over Tracer's cheeks, as she smiled in a way Brigitte would have labelled 'shy' on anyone else. She hadn't thought the older woman capable of that particular emotion. "Nah, I'm too skinny. It's all the calories I burn, blinking around."

'Skinny' wasn't the word Brigitte would use, though admittedly a little padding wouldn't look amiss and would probably highlight her beauty. 'Slender', certainly, and her tiny waist emphasized the sweet curve of her ass and plump mounds of her breasts. She was surprisingly chesty for someone with such a slight stature, which Brigitte had realized when she was measuring for the new armour. 

At that time, she'd been unable to do anything but admire the sight while she scanned for the measurements. Now, she was able to lift her hands and skim them down from Tracer's shoulders to cup the heavy mounds, cradling the soft weight with exquisite care. Stiff nipples pressed against her palms through the lace, and Tracer whimpered when Brigitte kneaded gently. 

This was new territory for Brigitte, but also familiar ground, since she certainly knew what _she_ liked. That gave her a starting point for explorations. She pushed Tracer against the wall again, leaning in to pin her there with sheer body weight, and massaged the soft globes. Remembering what Tracer had done that felt so good on her, Brigitte pinched one nipple and tugged, wringing a short, sharp cry out of her lover.

Lover. Yes, she had the right to use that word. The knowledge fizzled through her like soda bubbles, making her giddy. Lena Oxton was Brigitte's lover, and she had permission to do just about anything she wanted to this beautiful woman.

Ducking her head for another kiss proved to be rather awkward, but still enjoyable. Tracer had her hands on Brigitte's breasts again, now unfettered by any material between them. In retaliation, Brigitte dropped one hand to slide over Tracer's stomach, toying with the edge of the panties before travelling over them to cup the other woman's sex in her hand.

Tracer cried out against Brigitte's mouth, hips jerked up to encourage the touch, her whole body trembling. All the breath left Brigitte's lungs when she realized how damp the panties were, clinging to the slick flesh. Until that moment, she hadn't _truly_ processed what Tracer had been up to in the observation room all those times.

The knowledge was fire in her veins, and Brigitte shivered in paradoxical response. "So you'd stand up there and finger yourself while watching me, hmm? Did you get off?"

"Sometimes." The answer was little more than a moan. Tracer cleared her throat and tried again, voice breaking each time Brigitte rocked her palm against the silky fabric and sensitive flesh beneath. "I wanted to let you - hah - control the pace, so I'd time each stroke to, oh god, to your mace swings. Only, only sometimes you'd finish before I did."

"And you'd stop yourself?" Brigitte asked to confirm, both surprised and not when Tracer nodded. One more puzzle piece to add to the picture she was starting to see, and understand. Tracer liked giving up control in bed, even to the extent of denying herself release.

Good thing Brigitte was starting to understand how much _she_ liked taking it. She was still feeling her way through this, but some things were obvious enough. "Go lie down on the bed," she said, and this time was successful in keeping her tone firm. 

"You want the rest off?" Tracer asked, hooking her thumbs in the waist of her panties.

"Yes. I want to see all of you." Then Brigitte blinked, and Tracer was suddenly on the bed, sprawled out in a sexy pose, the faintest trail of blue hanging in the air between them. "Ha. So that's why you call it 'blinking'," Brigitte said, smiling. She'd seen it in battle, but it was different when she wasn't expecting it.

"As in, blink and you'll miss it," Tracer agreed, grinning back. She'd arranged herself on the pillows against the headboard so she could see Brigitte easily, her back arched to showcase her breasts, legs spread just enough to entice without being completely wanton. 

As she walked toward the bed in a more conventional fashion, Brigitte slipped out of her more prosaic panties and discarded them on the floor, leaving her bare to Tracer's appreciative gaze. The way the other woman looked at her, brown eyes full of heat and pupils blown with arousal, made Brigitte feel every bit as sexy as Tracer said she looked.

"Got any toys you'd like to share?" Brigitte asked as she put one knee on the side of the mattress and leaned over her lover. "Show me what you like, maybe I'll build you something better."

"Ooh, really?" Tracer twisted to reach for her bedside drawer, then rummaged about until she emerged with something long and thick and phallic. _Too_ long - Brigitte's eyes widened, wondering how anyone could possibly fit that inside them.

Then she saw the harness fastening in the middle, and realized the true purpose of it. "Strap-on? I've heard of them, but never seen one."

"Mmm, you don't know what you're missing." Tracer sighed, with an expression of heated anticipation. "Who needs men. Toys are much more fun, like you said - but even more fun when there's a woman on the other end."

Taking the dildo, Brigitte examined it with fascination. There was a curve to it, and one side was shorter than the other - presumably the side for the person wearing it. Thick bumps lined the inner curves, to rub against the g-spot inside. 

It looked new, still had a faint scent of the soft silicon it was made of. She tipped her head in silent question at Tracer, who blushed and answered. "Bought it in a momentary fit of insanity a few weeks ago. Sort of a 'yeah but what if she _would_ and then I didn't have anything to use' bit of hope."

"Guess it's a good thing." Brigitte smiled, and Tracer's answering grin was bright as the sun. "So let's see if I've got this right. You want me to put this on, and then have me pound you into the mattress?"

" _Please_ , yes." The words were little more than a moan of pure need. "I mean, if you want to. If not, that's okay too! There's plenty of other fun..."

Catching Tracer's chin in her hand, Brigitte leaned in and kissed the rest of the words right out of the other woman's mind. She took her time about it, exploring sensitive spots with her tongue, learning what made Tracer moan and what made her shudder. Tracer's arms slid around her neck, pulling Brigitte down over her, until she had to brace herself on the mattress with the hand not holding the dildo.

When she pulled back again, Tracer was flushed in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment. Brigitte nodded. "I'm willing to give it a shot. You gonna help me get it into place?"

Hooking her leg around Brigitte's calf, Tracer performed a wrenching roll that tipped Brigitte off her, sent them both tumbling over each other in a way that rubbed their bodies together enticingly, and ended up with Tracer on top and Brigitte flat on her back. The smaller woman was straddling Brigitte's muscled thigh, and Brigitte could feel the wet heat of her sex rubbing over sensitive skin. Leaving the dildo beside her on the bed, Brigitte reached up and cupped Tracer's heavy breasts, thumbing the nipples.

"Haa... not fair. You're distracting me." Tracer wriggled in her hold, doing nothing to actually try to get away, but grinding her core against Brigitte's thigh. She made a startled noise when Brigitte flexed the muscle and rocked her thigh up into the motion, pushing harder to give better friction. 

Brigitte loved how distractable the other woman was, so easily engulfed in sensual pleasure that Tracer would lose track of what she had meant to do. Everything Tracer did, she did whole-heartedly, and sex was clearly no exception.

After a moment, however, Tracer shook her head and stopped moving. "Nuh-uh. I wanna do this. Do you need..." Her delicate hand slipped down to explore between Brigitte's thighs, and her eyes widened as they encountered little friction among the curls. "Ooh, nope, don't need lube at all, do we. All that's for me, love?"

"Are you joking?" Brigitte pinched her nipples and tugged, making Tracer moan again. "Of course it's for you. You've been teasing me since you first kissed me."

With a little hum of pleasure, Tracer picked up the dildo and slid the length of it over Brigitte's core. Hard enough to be felt, too light to offer any satisfaction, and too smooth to do anything but tease. Brigitte made a frustrated noise and arched her hips, trying to get more pressure.

Instead Tracer turned it to a new angle and probed with the head through the slick folds. She rubbed it over Brigitte's clit once, twice, then moved down until she found the entrance. Brigitte was no stranger to having objects inside her, but this one was wide enough to stretch her even so. Tracer went slow, easing it in rather than thrusting. 

The aching burn of it felt good, _amazing_. By the time it was fully seated, Brigitte felt like she was going to burst in the best possible way from the heavy pressure of it, trembling on the edge of an orgasm. She held it back fiercely, releasing Tracer to clench her hands in the sheets, breathing deep and keeping her muscles as relaxed as possible until the threatening inner spasms eased.

Opening her eyes, only then realizing she'd closed them, she found Tracer watching with an absolutely rapt expression. "So gorgeous," she said yet again. There was no doubting her sincerity, not when she was eyeing Brigitte like the world's most delicious chocolate. "You ready?"

Not trusting her voice, Brigitte nodded and rolled carefully up to her hands and knees. Moving with the heavy dildo inside was awkward and tantalizing, and it nearly slipped free before Tracer grabbed the trailing straps and fastened it properly in place around Brigitte's waist and thighs.

"Lie down," Brigitte murmured, reaching out to stroke her fingers over Tracer's cheek and jaw. The other woman obeyed, settling into place on the pillows against the headboard once more, and Brigitte moved over her. Front to front, bodies inches apart, with Tracer's legs spread on either side of Brigitte's hips.

It wasn't the position Brigitte was used to being in, but she ignored the instinct that said 'you're doing it wrong' and leaned down to ravish the other woman with a kiss again. Lining the dildo up with Tracer's entrance was harder than she'd thought, though she supposed boys had the advantage of being able to feel what they were doing. Finally Brigitte had to shift her weight to one hand and reach down to find the right angle, while Tracer giggled against her mouth.

The giggles turned to breathless gasps when Brigitte flicked her fingers over Tracer's hard clit in response, then to a drawn-out moan as Brigitte began to push the dildo inside. The resistance of Tracer's body pushed it back into Brigitte's in turn, rubbing her inside with the bumps and making her groan as well.

Experimentally she pulled back a few inches, and that made the dildo shift inside her as well, pulling and pushing in response to her motions. Finally able to see how this would be fun for both parties, Brigitte started to thrust in earnest. Lifting her free hand, she slid it between Tracer's head and the pillows, wrapping her fingers in the spiky hair once more.

Tracer rocked up to meet her with each thrust, her breathing growing heavy and ragged, both of them becoming sloppy in the kiss as pleasure built. Finally Brigitte tore her mouth away to lick and nibble at Tracer's throat, since she'd like that so much. The other woman was shuddering beneath her, nails digging into Brigitte's shoulders, each tiny pinprick of pain swirling away into the overwhelming pleasure.

Then Tracer dropped one hand to brush against the harness, and the dildo started _vibrating_. Brigitte yelped, hips stuttering forward to grind against Tracer in her surprise, burying the toy deep in both their bodies. The move pressed her clit against the harness, where the vibration was softer but still enough to stimulate her almost unbearably.

With a scream, Tracer went over the edge, legs locking tight around Brigitte's waist as her body undulated with the force of her pleasure. Brigitte rode her through it, sharp, shallow thrusts to draw out the orgasm and stretch the ecstasy as far as possible, but it was only seconds until she tumbled over the peak as well.

They trembled together, cradled in each other's arms, reeling with aftermath and the continued vibrations. Finally Brigitte dredged up the presence of mind to fumble at the harness until she found the switch, turning the toy off. They both sighed, a sound of mixed relief and regret at the loss.

"Well?" Tracer asked, her voice husky from screaming. "What'd you think? Worth repeating?"

"As long as it's with you." Pushing up on her forearms so she wouldn't crush the smaller woman, Brigitte wound a smaller tendril of Tracer's hair around one finger and tugged. "I've got a few ideas for improvements, though."

"I bet you do." Tracer sounded both smug and victorious, as if getting Brigitte to build better toys had been the plan all along. "Who knew dating an engineer would have such lovely side benefits?"

"Are we? Dating?" Brigitte blurted the words out before she could stop herself, hating that she sounded like an uncertain child but needing to be sure she wasn't misunderstanding what lay between them, now.

"I mean..." Tracer's eyes went wide, and the smug look faded into one of dismay. "Unless you don't want to?"

"No, I do!" Brigitte hastened to assure her, leaning down for a quick, hard kiss to seal the deal. "I only wanted to be sure. We've been tripping around each other for weeks, wasting time because we weren't checking to see what the other one wanted."

"True." Rueful but once again happy, Tracer smiled up at her and wound her arms around Brigitte's neck, pulling her close. "So. Wanna see my next favourite toy? Or do you need time to recover?"

Heat streaked through Brigitte all over again, as she drew in a sharp breath at the lustful look in Tracer's eyes. Now _this_ was a definite improvement over the boys, who'd tended to roll over and lose interest the moment they'd had their own orgasm. One had even fallen asleep on her.

"I think I could be persuaded," she murmured, ducking down for a longer, hotter kiss that had her inner muscles trembling around the hard dildo again. Being with Tracer was going to be like living on a roller coaster, always in motion and full of sharp turns and unexpected plunges into sensation. But damn, was it ever a good ride.


End file.
